


Sam Beckett Lives

by BJackson



Series: The Other and the Observer [3]
Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Angst, Drama, Torture, corny use of musical numbers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 20:36:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7655815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BJackson/pseuds/BJackson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam seemingly leaps home, but there's something sinister behind his miraculous return. If all goes according to plan, the Project could be lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

    "Got him!"  
  
    Splayed out on his belly, TJ Sanders kept his fingers wrapped tightly around the horny toad he'd leaped to snatch up. Try as it might, the creature couldn't wriggle its squat body free. Proud of his quick reflexes, TJ was not going to be letting it go any time soon. He'd show it off to his sister later; really get her to squeal.  
  
    "Get out of the middle of the road, you doofus!" his friend Jason called out to him.  
  
    "Or what? No one's coming," TJ argued. He was keeping watch on the road. Still, the asphalt underneath him was egg-sizzling hot from the desert heat. Lizard kept securely in his fingers, he got to his feet and stepped over to Jason to show off his catch.   
  
    On the outskirts of town and in the middle of the summer, the streets were at their barest. Most people would rather spend their vacations anywhere but here, but since both of them were too poor to have any real fun, they had to make their own. So that meant kicking rocks around in the desert and catching their 5th horny toad that week. It was slow going but at least it was something. _Nothing_ cool happened around here.   
  
    "Hey, who's that?" Jason pointed down the road leading out of town, squinting curiously. Shielding his eyes from the sun, TJ followed his direction.   
  
    There was a man. Just walking.  
  
    They could tell he'd been walking for a long time. A coat of dust layered his sweat-stained clothes and hair; his skin was red from the sun. He staggered as he walked, confused, exhausted. A trail of footprints behind him led straight into the desert.   
  
    TJ placed his prized lizard on the ground, where it skittered away, and waited cautiously still with his friend. Tired eyes focused on the town ahead, the man shuffled closer. Neither boy was certain if they should say anything. The muffled sound of music pounded into the road as a couple of cars drove past, and then faded into silence.   
  
    Finally, TJ bravely spoke up. "Hey, mister, are you okay?"   
  
    His head slowly turned toward them, as if just noticing them. Something inside him switched on, and he suddenly looked more human. "I think so," his voice squeaked with dryness. He cleared his throat and put on a friendly face. "This might sound like a weird question, but where are we?"   
  
    "Los Alamos, sir."   
  
    The man nodded. He pursed his lips. Hesitated. "And the year?"   
  
    Jason and TJ exchanged a look. Jason was the one to answer this time. "It's...2001."   
  
    The man reacted as if he'd just been told the sky was purple. His jaw went slack. Why wouldn't he know the year, TJ wondered?  
  
    "Oh my god!" A car had stopped, and a curvaceous woman was stepping out with her (smaller and more embarrassed) husband. Eyes bugging out of her head, she pointed a stubby finger brazenly at the man as she approached. "You're him, aren't you?"   
  
    The man was totally lost. "...him?"   
  
    "Him! Him! I've seen you in magazines!" she exclaimed excitedly, "Oh, I know your name, don't tell me..." She clicked her red press-on nails together as she tried to jog her memory. Baffled, the man looked at the boys. They shrugged.  
  
    "I'm sorry," her husband apologized as he tried to gently tug her away, "She's always like this. Come on, let's go..."   
  
    "Sam Beckett!" she blurted out finally, "That was it! Sam Beckett! Gosh, I thought you were dead!"   
  
    Sam Beckett's red pallor turned white.  
  
\-------  
  
    Strolling casually down the hall toward his quarters, Al whistled a jaunty tune to himself. He couldn't think of the name of the song. Something he'd heard in a commercial maybe. The catchy jingle was stuck in his head now, like a CD skipping.   
  
    He was in a fantastic mood. Not for any particular reason, because nothing was really going on at the moment. But that was the thing. _Nothing_ was going on. They'd breezed through Sam's most recent leap, and they hadn't heard anything from him in a couple weeks. And he loved the kid, he really did, but leaping was stressful business, and it was a well-deserved break. No stressing about life or death scenarios, or staying up all night worrying if his best friend was gonna end up on the dead side of history. And for once, when midnight rolled around, he was fast asleep. Well...most nights. Unless Tina had other plans.   
  
    Hell, they even had enough free time that Donna was away visiting her mother. Al couldn't even remember when she'd taken time off last. She was always so focused on Sam, and, well, she enjoyed work too much. But she deserved to have some time away for herself, Al thought, after everything she'd been through. And, uh, if he was being honest with himself...it was nice to have a break from her too.   
  
    Today, he had big plans. He'd stacked himself a triple-decker sandwich (The Calavicci Special), he was going to watch some TV, and, fingers crossed, do nothing else. Balancing his plate on one hand, he slapped his other palm on the scanner, shut the door, and flipped on the boob tube.   
  
    Door shut, pants off. As they were halfway down, he heard something on the news that immediately caught his attention.   
  
    "In breaking news: world-renowned scientist Dr. Samuel Beckett has reemerged, six years after disappearing from the public eye."   
  
    He couldn't have heard right. Al's jaw and pants dropped, and he tripped his way over to the screen. What kind of baloney was the press trying to feed people now? The media had pulled many stunts concerning Sam's disappearance over the years, such was the way of things when someone famous just up and vanishes...but these stories usually ended up in tabloids, not on the news.   
  
    The presenter continued. "According to witnesses, Dr. Beckett bizarrely appeared wandering the desert in Los Alamos, and has been taken to Los Alamos Medical Center for observation. The hospital has been tight-lipped concerning his condition, but an onlooker was able to capture this footage of Beckett entering the facility."  
  
    When Al saw the footage, he stopped breathing. Sure the video was from a distance, grainy, and unprofessional, but that...that certainly looked a hell of a lot like Sam. Didn't it? If he squinted?  
  
    "Many questions about Dr. Beckett have been raised over the years since he stopped making public appearances, leading some people to speculate that his death was covered up. But if this footage proves anything...Sam Beckett lives."   
  
    "ZIGGY!"   
  
    "You don't have to shout, Admiral."   
  
    "Call Donna."  
  
    Ziggy decided this was an offensively big deal. "I believe I was told not to contact--"  
  
    "I know what you were told, Ziggy, but I'm overriding that order," Al told her with irritation, "This is an emergency. Get her back here now! Tell her we've got damage control."   
  
    Nothing was happening today, sure. This hoax was going to get someone in deep caca.   
  
\-------  
  
    The hospital was like a madhouse. Press were gathered around outside like bloodhounds, each one eager to be the first to interview the famous Sam Beckett. Al was disgusted. Didn't they have better things to do than clog up a hospital parking lot? If it was some lookalike trying to get their fifteen minutes of fame riding off of Sam's back, they were getting the attention they wanted. And Al was going to quash the whole thing right here and now.  
  
    After a long fight, Al made it to the front desk. A frazzled Hispanic woman glanced up at him over her glasses. It had clearly been a long day. "Can I help you, sir?"   
  
    Al broadened his shoulders and straightened his hat. It felt hotter than the sun driving there in his dress whites, but he always threw them on if legal matters might be concerned. For some opportunistic weasels, the uniform was enough to scare them off. "Yes, I'm here about Sam Beckett."   
  
    Within a millisecond, she'd lost her patience. "We're not allowed to release information concerning patients," she dismissed shortly, "If you'd like an interview with Mr. Beckett, we suggest contacting the appropriate parties."  
  
    "Do I look like press to you?"   
  
    Vaguely less annoyed, she took in his uniform. "Are you family?"   
  
    "Er--No. But--"  
  
    "Then you can't see Mr. Beckett," she stated curtly, and she turned her attention to the next person in line.   
  
    Ooh, now Al was really going to lay into her. Raising an indignant finger, he asked hotly, "Do you know who I am? I'm Admiral Albert Calavicci, and I demand to see Dr. Beckett! That is, if that even _is_ Dr. Beckett in there." He narrowed one accusing eye. The woman was not intimidated in the slightest. Al pouted angrily. He hated to be ignored.   
  
    Nevertheless, she did look over her screen. "You said Albert Calavicci?"   
  
    "Did I stutter?"  
  
    She glanced up again, deadpan, then looked back at her screen. She took her time. "You're on his contact list, but your line was busy. Room 26E." Without looking up, she pointed in the general direction before going back to work.   
  
    Al was stunned in place for a moment. He knew the line was busy, they were fielding calls from reporters the minute the story hit, but he wasn't actually expecting a call concerning whatever crackpot was behind this. They must know he would immediately see it wasn't Sam. Did the hospital really believe their story too?   
  
\-------  
  
    Al arrived at "Sam's" door and smoothed the front of his jacket. Time to put the fear of god into this parasite. Once the door was shut, he put on his meanest, most bureaucratic face. Think lawyer or something, a real bloodsucking hardass. He turned to face the creep.  
  
    "Alright, you nozzle. I don't know what your game is, but--"  
  
    He jolted to a stop. The words died on his lips. For a moment the wind was knocked out of him, and his brain couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. Because there was no mistaking it. Long face. Crow's feet. Streak of white hair. That was Sam Beckett.   
  
    "Al."  
  
    "Sam?" Al asked cautiously. He feared if he was certain, his friend would disappear.   
  
    Sam's mouth quirked up. "It's me. I'm home."  
  
    It couldn't be. But it was. It was?   
  
    It was.   
  
    He was real! And tangible! Shaking with overjoyed laughter and not caring about the how or why at the moment, Al closed the distance between them and swept Sam into a tight hug before he could be revealed as just an illusion. Taken off guard, Sam jumped and yelped in surprise.   
  
    "Sam! I can't believe it! You're really here!" Al couldn't think of what else to say; he was dumbstruck, so he clapped him heartily on the back. Then, the first thing that came to mind, "This is--this is amazing!" It felt so good to be able to hold him in his arms! But rather than return the embrace, Sam had tensed up. Brow creased with concern, Al was quick to back off. "Kid?" Was he going too fast? Was Sam hurt? God, he should've asked first.   
  
    Sam chuckled and shrugged. "Sunburn. Sorry."  
  
    "Oh." Al nodded. That was a relief. Still, he couldn't help but notice a distant reserve. He was curious as hell about what happened.   
  
    But when Sam's face cracked into a big, Beckett smile, some of his worry melted away. It was a wonderful sight to see. "I'm happy to be here too, Al. God, I'm glad to be back!"   
  
    Pulling his hand across his mouth, Al studied his friend closely. Red, slightly worn, still Sam-shaped. Surreal. "I, uh, heh...I'm blown away here, Sam. I just have so many questions. I mean...how?"   
  
    Again, Sam shrugged. "I wish I knew. I thought I was on a leap! I just appeared in the desert, and now..." He threw out his hands. "I'm here! Whatever's been leaping me around time must've decided to put me back."   
  
    "Hot ziggety damn..." Al breathed, still in shock, "That easy, huh?"  
  
    "That easy." Sam's crow's feet crinkled around his eyes, and Al caught his infectious smile again.   
  
    It didn't make a lot of sense, and Al still had a lot of questions he wasn't sure anyone could answer. But it didn't matter. What mattered was that finally, finally, he'd gotten what he'd wanted the most for six years. Sam had come back. He had his best friend again  
  
    Sam's brows furrowed, however, and he motioned toward his head. "My memory's still a little...fuzzy over some things. I don't remember where I live or where the Project is."   
  
    "Your brain's still swiss cheesed?" Al asked with worry. Shouldn't leaping back fix that? Oh hell, he didn't know. Maybe his brain would fill itself in with time. He hoped.   
  
    "That's why I'm here. But other than a little sunburn, they didn't find anything wrong with me. Just left over from leaping, I guess." Sam sighed, fixing Al with an entreating look. "Right now, I'd just really like to go home."   
  
    "Sam," Al said seriously, and his friend paused with trepidation. He leaned in closer. "It would be my honor."   
  
\-------  
  
    Sam was awfully quiet on the way back. Not that Al could blame him. He'd been through a lot. And a lot that Al was certain he wasn't saying. He wasn't going to push. It had been a very long six years; Sam had a right to be a little overwhelmed. He wasn't sure what was going on in the kid's noggin, but if it was anything like what was rolling around in his brain, it was loud and overbearing. He'd driven out here expecting to be shouting down some loser trying to take advantage of Sam's good name, and come back with Sam actually in the passenger's seat. It had been a hell of a call to make to the Project.   
  
    Still. He'd expected Sam to be...happier.  
  
    "Heh, I just realized somethin'. Now that you aren't trapped in time, you're not gonna know what to do with yourself!"  
  
    "Yeah."   
  
    "That's a dangerous thing, you havin' free time. Next thing I know, you'll have invented a teleporter or somethin'." Al laughed. "Only--Sam, let's test that one out on someone else, will ya?" He winked. Sam grinned politely.   
  
    Silence. Al coughed.   
  
    "At least, uh, at least you don't have to worry about being chased by bulls now!"   
  
    "Huh?"   
  
    "Your last leap."  
  
    Sam grew quiet. "I don't remember."   
  
    "Oh." Al stole a glance away from the road. Sam was looking out the window thoughtfully. He wondered what he was thinking. Carefully, he asked, "What, ummm...what _do_ you remember, Sam?"   
  
    Sam looked back at him, considering the question for a moment. "Well...pieces. I remember parts of leaping, and my life, just details escape me. But I think it's coming back to me. It'll refresh my memory when I get back home. You know, somewhere familiar."   
  
    "Oh. About that, Sam..." Al started hesitantly. He supposed he had to break the news sometime this drive. He scratched at his temple. "You, ah...don't exactly live there anymore."   
  
    "What do you mean?"   
  
    "I mean, well..." Al rubbed the back of his head nervously. "Ah jeez, kid, I hate to tell you this, but Donna sold the place. After your last trip back. She put the money into the Project, to...to get you." His voice got softer. He cautiously waited for Sam's response. Receiving nothing, he marched onward. "That's why I'm taking the long route. Gotta lose the press. You...you live at the Project now."   
  
    "I see."   
  
    That was it? Sam gave away nothing of how he was feeling. Al wished he knew what approach to take. "But now that you're back, you can find a new place," he assured him, "Something nice. This is, y'know, this is only temporary."   
  
    Sam was amused now, apparently humored by Al's floundering. "Al...I can't wait to see the Project."   
  
    Instantly, Al became more at ease. He felt silly for trying so hard. After all, he knew how to talk to Sam. His friend just needed some time to adjust.   
  
    Hell, _he_ needed time to adjust.   
  
\-------  
  
    Once they were certain they weren't being followed by nosy reporters, they at last arrived at Project Quantum Leap. After being greeted by an extremely excited security guard, Al pulled into the parking garage and led Sam toward the elevators. He still seemed a bit confused about the layout. It'd come back to him.   
  
    "You might notice we've changed some things in the six years since you left," Al informed him, "But it's still the same old project. You'll get back in the swing of things in no time." He pressed his hand onto the scanner, the door slid open, and they made their way into the main building.  
  
    Immediately, Sam's face lit up. Taking slow steps inside, he took in the Project with awe. Home. He was home. Bouncing on his heels, Al stood proudly nearby, brimming with joy to be part of this. This was the Sam he'd expected.   
  
    Carefully, methodically, Sam ran his fingers across the wall, memorizing the texture. He smiled. "I want to see more."  
  
\-------  
  
    "SURPRISE!"   
  
    The door had barely fallen shut before Sam was surrounded by enthusiastic Project staff. A last minute display of balloons and streamers decorated the room, as well as a homemade sign: WELCOME BACK, DR. BECKETT! Hands from all sides clapped Sam on the back and many people voiced their congratulations.   
  
    Sam playfully gave an embarrassed look toward Al, who raised up his hands in a shrug. "Sorry, Sam. Couldn't resist!"   
  
    Gooshie practically tackled Sam into an embrace, or maybe Sam's recoil had to do with his breath. "Dr. Beckett! It's so wonderful to see you!"  
  
    Coughing, Sam gently pulled back. "It's good to see you too."   
  
    "Welcome back, sir!"   
  
    "Cheers for Dr. Beckett!"   
  
    Someone placed a drink in his hands. "How about a toast?"   
  
    "Go on!"   
  
    "Let's hear it!"   
  
    The crowd expressed their encouragement, and Sam raised his free hand until the noise died down. "Okay, okay," he chuckled, "I'm a little bit speechless right now, so I'll have to keep this short." He lifted his glass. "To old faces, to new beginnings...and to my dearest friend, Al." He raised his glass toward him and grinned. "Without you, I wouldn't be here today." The crowd cheered and toasted.   
  
    Hands shoved in his pockets, Al shrugged bashfully. "Ah, I didn't do anything you wouldn't do." Then, to the crowd. "Now let's get this party started, huh?"   
  
\-------  
  
    As far as parties go, Al would describe this one as a real swingin' shindig. You could feel the good vibes in the air. And although he wasn't drinking himself, he took great amusement in seeing Gooshie drunk off his ass and attempting to balance various objects on his head. On an ordinary day Gooshie couldn't tell a joke from a joystick, but when he got hammered he was a riot. And he was totally toasted now; he was having the time of his life. Everyone, _everyone_ was feeling on top of the world. There wasn't a single one of them who could be brought down at this moment.   
  
    That is, except for one person, and that was the person who should be most excited. It might not be obvious to everyone, but Al could tell. He could see it in his body language. Conversation unheard, the people opposite Sam were laughing, relaxed; Sam, on the other hand, was tense, cautious, guarded. He grinned politely and excused himself.   
  
    Al watched him from a distance, taking a sip of his soda.   
  
    "I notice no one invited _me_ to this party." It was Ziggy, pouting through his wristlink.   
  
    "You're a computer, chips-for-brains. What're you gonna do, be someone's date?"  
  
    "It would be nice to be asked anyway." Her feelings were hurt. He could hear the petulance in her voice. Barf. "But I can see when I'm not wanted."   
  
    Oh brother. Al squinted one eye and looked up curiously. "Hey, where've you been all afternoon anyway? Aren't you excited Sam's home?"   
  
    "Is he?"   
  
    Al frowned. What a dumb question for such an expensive piece of equipment. "Course he is. You didn't notice him?"   
  
    A pause. "Hmm."   
  
    That was it. The computer fell silent. Al tilted his head back in confusion.   
  
\-------  
  
    The bathroom was empty save for one slightly buzzed Sam Beckett, who made his way to the sink and splashed water on his face. He looked up at his reflection, _his_ reflection, and waited.   
  
    "Hoohoo, Sam, this is a real swingin' shindig!" The gravelly voice came from the wall, where the hologram of a very different Al Calavicci came strolling in. He felt around the pockets of his black sequined jacket, pulling out a cigar. "And this is all for you? It's so touching I'm gonna puke."   
  
    Sam glanced his way as he lit the cigar and took a puff.   
  
    "Don't talk to me just yet," Al told him through the stogie, "There aren't any cameras in here, but their computer could be listening in."   
      
    Sam obeyed and kept his mouth shut, planting his back end against the sink and listening. His eyes drifted back and forth as they followed the other man's movements.  
  
    "Looks like we did a pretty good job tuning me into your brainwaves without you leaping," the hologram commented casually, sliding his hand through the sink, "You're comin' in crystal clear." He stuck his head out through the wall again. "I wouldn't do it tonight. The crowd's too big." Pulling back inside, he sauntered over beside Sam's shoulder. Contemplative lips open slightly, a waft of smoke slowly curled out. "Wait until tomorrow, sometime when you're alone. You know what to do."   
  
    Gaze fixed ahead, Sam smirked knowingly.   
  
    Well, not Sam. Not the Sam the Project thought they knew anyway. A paradox, a product of a twist in time where Sam had been part of a different project; an Other Beckett. And he was joined by Al-but-not-really-Al, his partner in crime, the Observer Calavicci.  
  
    And they were going to make this place crumble.


	2. Chapter 2

    Project Quantum Leap was impressive in both technology and scope. It was hard to believe this was his.   
  
    No, not his. The other Sam's.   
  
    But still. In another life, this was his creation. A secret maze of pioneered time travel technology, overflowing with knowledge and highly protected. Scattered memories were left intact from his brief meld with the Sam of this timeline, but very few of them centered on this place. It was a fascinating rediscovery of himself. He felt he could get lost in the endless hallways, spend hours exploring the rooms and examining the machinery.   
  
    That is, if he could get five minutes alone from any of these losers. Everywhere he turned, there was someone to congratulate the marvelous Sam Beckett on his safe return and a job well done. Touching him with disconcerting hands. Either too in denial or too stupid to realize that their idol was a fraud.   
  
    The Other Beckett knew what darkness was within the Doctor Beckett, the same darkness that dwelled within him. Only the doctor was a snake who kept it hidden under the guise of discovery and heroism. He and his hologram had cost both paradoxes their lives. But Beckett's goal of destroying them had breathed new life into him, united him with the Calavicci who was once his enemy.   
  
    The Sam who originated here, and the Al who lived on broken promises, they were the true villains. They brought all of this on themselves.   
  
    Once he'd finished up in the bathroom, Beckett left for another performance. As he'd predicted, it was less than a minute before he was being approached by yet another of the doctor's pathetic sycophants. The woman was in her 30s, wavy brown hair, reasonably good looking for her age. Repulsively cheery. He matched her joy with a pasted-on expression of his own.   
  
    "It's...it's an honor to have you back, Dr. Beckett." Her southern accent might've made her sound like an idiot were it not for her rich tone of voice. He found it sexy. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear nervously. "You probably don't remember me. I'd barely started here before you...y'know. But you were-- _are_ , my hero."   
  
    Ugh. "Thank you," Beckett said through his false smile, "Um...?" He pretended to search for a name.  
  
    "Sammy Jo. Er, I mean--" She straightened her posture and tried to be more serious. "Dr. Samantha Fuller. Dr. Fuller. I mean--" Embarrassed now, she closed her eyes and buried her face in her hands for a moment. "I'm sorry. I'm just nervous. You were the reason I got into this field, and I hardly got to meet you before--" She cut herself off, abruptly changed subject and tone. "I've been here six years now. I was heading the team working to fix the retrieval program. We came close a few times too." Nodding, she smiled and clasped her hands in front of her.   
  
    "Sammy Jo, right..." said Beckett, acting as if her memory was just dawning on him, "I remember you. Such potential." Her smile widened proudly. He placed a hand on her shoulder and looked as superior as he could get away with. "Don't worry about failing. We all can't be geniuses. At least you can fall back on your looks." Stroking her chin condescendingly, he winked, turned around, and headed back toward the party. Out of sight of the profoundly disappointed woman, he allowed himself a smug look.   
      
\-------  
  
    "About time you showed up!" Calavicci called from the middle of the room. Someone had started some music, and he was dancing invisibly along with the crowd. Beckett looked away. Sure, it was easy for a hologram to enjoy himself; he didn't have to actually be here with these people.   
  
    The same voice spoke up next to him. "How you doin', kid?"   
  
    Still unused to the two Als, Beckett covered his surprise well. "Never better." God, he'd like to strangle him. It took much of his control to play nice with his tormentor.   
  
    Before Al could get out another word, a small figure had barreled into Beckett and caught him off guard again. "Hiya, Dr. B! Welcome back to the party!" she exclaimed in a twinkly voice. Her pert breasts were snuggled nicely against his body. He was entirely okay with this kind of touching, but unfortunately it didn't last long. "You like, wanna dance?" She giggled and wiggled.   
  
    Three sets of eyes were checking her out: one was Beckett and the other two were named Calavicci. The Observer, unseen by anyone but Beckett, got up close and personal. "Oh, Tina, Tina, Tina... I'll dance with you _all night long_..." He swung his hips forward suggestively.   
  
    Beckett chuckled. He coughed to cover it up.   
  
    "Leave him alone, Tina," Al said, along with a good-natured tug in his direction, "If the kid wants to dance, he'll dance. If you wanna dance with _me_ , on the other hand..." He lowered his eyelids seductively.   
  
    "Oh come on, it's a celebration!" the redhead (Tina, presumably) said as she started back toward Beckett, swaying to the music, "Let's dance, Dr. B!"  
  
    "I think _I'll_ have this dance."   
  
    Al and Tina looked behind Beckett toward the speaker, and the mood of the room abruptly changed. Curiously, Beckett turned around to see who had spoken.  
  
    He'd never seen anyone look at him like that before. Like he was the only light in a dark room. No one except...  
  
    Brown hair swept into a loose bun, sad eyes, a wistful grin. Tears brimmed as she looked at him; her breath was held captive in this single moment. The crowd watched, mesmerized, waiting.   
  
    One cautious step forward. Then another, quicker. Hardly contained now, she rapidly closed the distance between them and passionately pulled his lips to hers.   
  
    Well, he wasn't going to turn her down if she was offering. Whoever she was.   
  
    They parted. Beckett caught his breath and grinned with surprise. He didn't take the other Sam as the playboy type. "That was some welcome."   
  
    The mystery woman's smile faded. "You don't remember me...do you?"   
  
    "Uh--"  
  
    "Oh, uh, Donna!" Calavicci jumped in.  
  
    "Donna, of course," Beckett quickly covered, "I'd never forget you." Donna, right, Al had mentioned a Donna earlier. She sighed with relief.   
  
    "Donna Eleese-Beckett," the Observer continued, leaning forward with a devilish grin, "Your wife."   
  
    Beckett went rigid. His wife.   
  
    His _wife_.   
  
    "Heh, yeah, been waiting here for six years since that chump left her. What a prince, right?" Calavicci chuckled, checking her out now. "I'd give her a five or so, but she'd do in a pinch..."  
  
    "Are you real?" Donna asked, dazed.   
  
    "As...as real as you."   
  
    Their fingers entwined. She gazed deeply into his eyes. "Can we go somewhere alone?"   
  
    Slowly, Beckett's lip curled up in a wicked grin. He would love, _love_ to be alone with the good doctor's wife.   
      
\-------  
  
    He couldn't see it. Why he'd married her. She was too mousy, too soft-spoken, too...ordinary. A good kisser, sure, but wholly unremarkable. But perhaps that's why the doctor left her behind. It was noteworthy that none of the memories that remained from his time as the other Sam had her in them.   
  
    But actually. He might've seen some of it in her eyes. The way she seemed to view him. Believing the lie. Sam Beckett must feed on that, her subservient need to please him. It ran so deep she'd waited for six years.  
  
    He couldn't wait to exploit that.   
  
    Their private quarters were nothing and everything like where he lived. The layout was strikingly similar, but when the doors opened at his own Project, he was met with blank walls, a bed, and only what was essential to live. Here, the door revealed a home.  
  
    Cozy, small, neat but not unwelcome. Temporary, just like any other leap. Or, the leap this journey equated to. He was used to playing the part as someone else, but to pretend to be himself, but at the same time _not_ be himself...it was a little more of a challenge than he'd expected. He was careful not to give away what he was thinking, to let Donna take the lead. If she thought she was in control, she would think it was her fault when things fell apart.   
  
    "I thought about you every day," she said. Both of them were standing next to perfectly serviceable chairs. "Fought for you every day. I knew you'd come home to me."   
  
    "I...didn't think about you," Beckett said, tacked with suitable remorse, "I didn't remember you. Didn't think I had anyone to come home to." He turned away, hid his amusement.   
  
    "I know. I told him not to tell you about me...so you wouldn't feel guilty for doing what you had to do."  
  
    Beckett looked over his shoulder, disbelieving. She would lie just so he could be unfaithful? And they still thought he was a saint? At least _he_ was honest about where he stood and who he had to screw along the way. "I remembered you when I left," he pointed out.   
  
    "I know."   
  
    Why was she so understanding? It was sickening. Despite himself, Beckett started to get angry. "You'd forgive me for that?"   
  
    "It took some time," she admitted, looking toward the floor, "but I did. A long time ago."   
  
    "Why?"   
  
    She stepped closer. Cupped his cheek. "Because I love you, Sam." She leaned forward, slowly, and tenderly kissed him. It was different this time. Softer. Less reactionary and more meaningful.   
  
    Beckett had been told "I love you" on more leaps than he could count. Passionately, hollowly, mistakenly, drunkenly, familial and romantic; it was not something he was unfamiliar with. But it was strange hearing it with his own name. Alien. He was unsure how to react.   
  
    So he kissed her back. Gently. Just to try it out. It wasn't unpleasant.   
  
    She looked up at him. Took his hands in hers. "I'm never letting you go again."  
  
    Odd, but he almost believed her. Stroking her shoulders, he leaned in and kissed her on the neck. Began to unbutton her dress.   
  
    He could hurt her later.   
  
\-------  
  
    The party was starting to wind down, not coincidentally around the same time the food and drinks began to run out. It wasn't exactly an abundant spread anyway, what with the last minute nature. But Al wasn't done celebrating just yet. He munched on some pretzels, popped one into Tina's mouth as they bobbed to the music. She giggled.   
  
    Like a foal learning how to walk, a hooched up Gooshie zigzagged his way to Al and threw an arm around his shoulder. Al coughed. His breath had somehow gotten worse.  
  
    "Whensss Dr. Beckett comin' back?" he slurred. Wow, he was totally gone. There were gonna be some hilarious pictures tomorrow.   
  
    Al smirked knowingly. "Uh, something tells me Sam probably won't be coming back out tonight."   
  
    "Oh," the programmer said obliviously. He blinked. "He's missin' a great party!"   
  
    "Great for most of us anyway," said Tina. Her focus was on Sammy Jo, who was keeping to herself in the corner. She stirred her drink sullenly. "What's eating her?" Tina looked toward Gooshie. They both shrugged.   
  
    It was odd. Sammy Jo wasn't usually one to be a wallflower. Al decided to go find out. "I'll be back, babe," he excused himself, heading for the corner, "Save another dance for me!"  
  
    "You got it!" Tina giggled as she pulled Gooshie in for a dance in the meantime.   
  
    Sammy Jo was so distracted, she didn't notice Al's approach. "Am I gonna have to start a conga line?"   
  
    "Hm?" Sammy Jo looked up from her drink. "There's a conga line?"  
  
    "If it gets you to smile, sure. Though word of warning, if Gooshie's leading, we might end up dancing in the boiler room." Sammy Jo chuckled, and Al's smile widened. "There it is." Sammy Jo shook her head, and he leaned against the wall. "Everything alright?"   
  
    "Oh yeah, everything's fine," she said appreciatively, "I mean, this is huge. It's a big night."  
  
    "You get to see Sam yet?"   
  
    "Oh yes." Sammy Jo was polite, but oddly quiet. She didn't elaborate. She stirred her drink again.   
  
    Al quirked an eyebrow. "I thought you of all people would be jumping off the walls with excitement. You don't seem that happy about it."   
  
    "I am!" Sammy Jo said quickly, worried she looked ungrateful, "Sorry, I am happy. He's just...different than I thought he'd be, that's all." She shrugged. "But that's on me, not him."  
  
    "Ah." Al screwed up his mouth, put his hands in his pockets. "He just needs some time to adjust to being back. Don't take it too personally if he acts a little weird."   
  
    Sammy Jo nodded. "Yeah. You're right."  
  
    "He's been through a lot."   
  
\-------  
  
    The sting of barbed wire brought Beckett back to consciousness with a start. He'd been dreaming again. Remembering. Like so many times before, he was able to bury it easily and quickly.   
  
    He looked beside him, where the doctor's wife slept peacefully. The sex had been...different. Something seemed off-putting that it had been meant for him and not a face in the mirror. But...then again, Dr. Beckett was just another mask when he thought about it.   
  
    Moving swiftly and quietly, Beckett got dressed and left the room.  
  
\-------  
  
    This time of night the Project was mostly empty, save for a handful of security personnel. And Beckett supposed after that party, more members of the staff than unusual were tucked away and sleeping it off. That left him freedom to pad softly down the corridors, really take in what he'd been too irritated to fully appreciate.   
  
    He knew the programmer had been completely off his ass. The Control Room would be unattended. The door clunked shut. Beckett froze as he took in the wondrous sight, an awestruck smile slowly overtaking his features.   
  
    It was beautiful. Lights of every color of the rainbow lit up the bizarre, cubed console, centered between four ramps lit blue. And high above everything else, the most wondrous shade of blue he'd ever seen, was a gold-flecked sphere watching over it all.   
  
    Proudly, he stepped further inside. "Hello, Ziggy."  
  
    A pause. The ball came to glowing life. "Good evening, Dr. Beckett. I'm told you're back."   
  
    "How very perceptive of you." Smartass. He knew she knew. Maybe she didn't know exactly, but she knew something wasn't right. That made her smarter than Al, at the very least. Well, why wouldn't she be? He created her. Not that this would be an issue much longer.   
  
    "I'm very busy, you know," the computer sniffed, "so you mustn't interrupt my work. It's _important_."   
  
    "Oh, I won't be too long." Beckett stepped up to the control panel, ran his hands along the colorful surface. Though the computer was quiet, he felt like unseen eyes were watching him with suspicion. He studied the controls, listened closely to seeming silence. Entered in his code.   
  
    "This is unusual behavior, Dr. Beckett," Ziggy said with annoyance, "And in accordance with my programming, I have no choice but to report to Admiral--"  
  
    "Override that section of the programming, Zig," Beckett ordered casually, pressing some more buttons. The sphere went mute again. "Atta girl." A few more tweaks in the program, and...viola! No one but him had access.   
  
    "This is a _violation_ of my programming, and I refuse to--"  
  
    "Hey Zig? I think it's time you shut up." And with another press of a button, the sphere and the console went dark. Beckett was pleased with himself. This had been too easy. You'd think the legendary Project Quantum Leap would have tougher security. He turned to his invisible companion. "It's done."  
  
    "Not yet, bucko," Calavicci said, puffing on his cigar, "You still gotta get the files. So don't get cocky."   
  
    "Fuck you; I'd like to see you shut down a government project singlehandedly."   
  
    " _You_ had the codes from that ancient Blue Book recording Lothos dug up," Calavicci said pointedly, "And besides, you ain't doin' it singlehandedly."   
  
    "I forgot; I have you to hold your dick in your hands and make sarcastic comments."   
  
    "Watch me _observe_ as you're getting your ass kicked by security, since you seem to have this handled on your own." Calavicci smirked at his own joke, and Beckett glared. "Besides, if I don't keep an eye on you, Lothos will send someone else who's less lenient." A dark shadow passed over him. He was no longer joking.   
  
    Beckett shrugged, and the argument was over. He studied the dimly lit Control Room. Calavicci shoved his hands into his pockets and took a few steps forward.   
  
    "Real kick in the ass, ain't it?"  
  
    "I gotta admit, it's impressive."   
  
    The sound of footsteps drew their attention, and Calavicci quickly phased through the wall to investigate. Within moments, he was sticking his head back in. "There's security patrol coming this way; you should disappear for now. You can come back tomorrow night and finish the job."   
  
    Nodding, Beckett quietly slipped out and returned to his quarters.  
  
    Calavicci remained behind for a bit. The last light blinked off.


	3. Chapter 3

    Donna's hand snaked across the man she thought was her husband as she rested her cheek against him. Eyes closed, she sighed contentedly, "Mmm...I missed this."   
  
    "The sex?"   
  
    She opened one eye, jokingly stern. "That too." But she melted into him again, stroked his chest. "But I meant waking up with you here."   
  
    If only she knew. He kissed the top of her head. "I missed you too."   
  
\-------  
  
    When the two of them emerged from their quarters, the hallway was busy with frantic staff members. Beckett kept a straight face, but inside he felt immense pleasure to see them scrambling to fix what he'd done. Donna pulled the programmer, the one with the bad breath (he never did learn his name), to a halt.   
  
    "What's going on?"   
  
    Bad Breath cast a shifty glance toward Beckett. He was trying to spare him some bad news following his "miraculous" return. "Oh, n-nothing much, just Ziggy's on the fritz again."   
  
    Beckett put on his best look of concern. "Anything I should be worried about?"   
  
    The programmer rapidly shook his head. "Oh no no no, we've got this handled. We'll have it fixed in a few hours."   
  
    "Are you sure? Maybe I can help."   
  
    "I'm certain. You just enjoy yourself, Dr. Beckett. Dr. Eleese." And with that, the man scurried off. Like a rat in the maze Beckett had built.   
  
    Donna wrapped her arm tighter around him and grinned. "I know what you're thinking, but I'm not letting you near that Control Room. You've been back less than a day and already you're thinking about work." She led him down the hall, in the opposite direction of the others. "Let them work on Ziggy, and you have breakfast with me."   
  
\-------  
  
    "I see you worked up an appetite."  
  
    Beckett had stacked his plate as full as he could make it. It was an old habit; at his Project he was never sure when food was coming, and he made sure to stock up on leaps. The cafeteria at Project Quantum Leap offered the usual fare of microwaved goods and pastries, but it was sufficient enough for him. He swallowed the banana he'd crammed into his face. "It was a long day yesterday. I didn't have a lot of time to eat."   
  
    "Good, then you should get seconds."   
  
    "Count on it." He began to unwrap an oversized muffin next.  
  
    After a moment, Donna reached across the table and grasped his free hand. She rubbed her thumb across his knuckle. "Sam, I have another trip I have to take today. I'm afraid I can't cancel."   
  
    Knitting his brows, he pretended to be disappointed. "Oh, that's too bad."   
  
    "Funding; you know how it is. But I'll be back by tonight."   
  
    "Okay."   
  
    "Will you be alright while I'm gone?"   
  
    "I'm sure I can keep myself busy."  
  
    "You should go into town; get out of the Project for a little bit. You could go with Al."  
  
    Beckett looked up from his plate at Donna's suggestion. Looking fragile, he placed his other hand over hers. "Actually, I'm not sure if I'm up to leaving just yet. In fact...I'd rather be alone for a while."   
  
\-------  
  
    Hot damn, he could get used to this! Beckett sat in his counterpart's office, feet propped on top of the desk, smoke furling from the cigar he'd found left behind. A little TV was making noise in the corner, competing with the music he had playing alongside it. Beckett had found a small collection of old records in the room; he'd decided on something by the Electric Light Orchestra. No matter what he thought of this timeline's Sam, he had to admit he had good taste in music. Struggling to read the songs on the back of the album, he lifted his sunglasses. Shit, no wonder it seemed a little dark.   
  
    "Sam, did I ever tell you about the time I fucked a girl to Telephone Line?"   
  
    "I bet you did. And you rode her all the way through Shangri-La."   
  
    "Somehow, sex is always better on vinyl." Calavicci smiled through his cigar.   
  
    Laughing, Beckett tossed the album aside and stood, grabbing the remote to turn up the TV. On the news, they were still talking about his amazing resurface. "Check it out, Al. I'm a celebrity."   
  
    Calavicci nodded. "Oh yeah, you're a real boy wonder in this timeline. You've got looks _and_ brains; you're a big deal with science nerds and lonely housewives."   
  
    Beckett began to explore the shelves. Pictures of himself--his other self--were sporadically framed and displayed, captured in newspaper clippings or articles. Awards and diplomas were haphazardly located within the mess of the room. It was as if the office had been left just as it was when his double had taken his first leap; a clutter of controlled chaos.   
  
    He picked up a picture of his teenage self at a piano, studying it closely. "You still remember this stuff?"   
  
    "Some of it, yeah." Calavicci stepped up beside him, looked at the picture. "Oh! That was from, uh, Carnegie Hall. You were 19."   
  
    He looked so young. So overjoyed. Music was one of his great loves, before...but that was when he was 16. When he was 19, he was perfecting how to reset bones. He never looked like this. "What else did I--he, do?"  
  
    Calavicci quirked a questioning eyebrow. "Does it matter?"   
  
    "It does if I'm playing the part," replied Beckett. A pause. He looked up. "Right?"  
  
    Hands in pockets, Calavicci thought it over and nodded. He cleared his throat and took out his triangular handlink. "I might need Lothos for this. I don't exactly have all of it straight anymore." He plonked a few buttons and the triangle lit up. As he read the small text, he began to circle the room. "He...went to MIT at 16, graduated in half the time, yadda yadda yadda...got seven doctorates, learned six modern languages and four dead ones, proficient in some martial arts, and the _piece de resistance_...a Nobel Prize in physics, which got him featured in TIME Magazine." He glanced up with evil eyes. "Oh, and he built a time machine and got us into this whole fuckin' mess. If you recall."   
  
    As the hologram spoke, Beckett crossed the room and continued to examine his double's mementos. He stopped when he saw it. Underneath the clutter, there sat a small piano. The kind of piano he'd daydream about, back when he still dreamt. It wasn't shiny or new, but it felt like it belonged. Like it was shaped for him. He took a step closer. Dare he play it?  
  
    Then he remembered the eyes on him, and he withdrew.   
  
    These successes couldn't be him. Not Sam Beckett. In such a relatively short time, he'd accomplished so much more than he could've dreamed. The aspirations of a young genius on a farm were seen through to reality. He'd gotten...everything he could've ever wanted.   
  
    Correction. Dr. Beckett had stolen everything he wanted from _him_. Every achievement, ripped from someone else's hands. These pictures were the face of the enemy. No, they weren't him.  
  
    But part of him, deep inside his empty chest, wished they were.  
  
\-------  
  
    The kid had that look in his eye again. Like he was a million miles away from here. It must be nice to have that kind of escape. Calavicci was more of a realist, but he thought it was admirable that Beckett could keep that up after thirty years. He'd seen men go for far less, and he himself had a relatively short experience of captivity in comparison. The kid had a pair, that much was for sure. But he knew that before he knew him.   
  
    It was eerie, having an entire other life with a person you just met. A lot of the memories from this timeline had faded since he lost contact with his (now-nonexistent) project, but he remembered Sam. In this timeline, they'd been best friends for 16 years. Sam was one of the few people who hadn't abandoned him; he gave him a new hope for the human race. And then he and his double created him and smashed his life to pieces. It was a betrayal from a friend he'd never had.   
  
    But _his_ Sam hadn't done that. His Sam, he'd come to realize, was another abandoned creation.  
  
    Sometimes when he looked at him, he saw Sam his Best Friend before he remembered. Sometimes when his Sam looked at him, he saw the other Al.   
  
\-------  
  
_♫_ _Who put the bomp in the bomp bah bomp bah bomp? Who put the ram in the rama lama ding dong? Who put the..._ _♫_ _  
  
    Beckett bobbed his head to the beat as he worked. He grunted as he dragged the heavyset corpse into place. With a loud thud, the body clunked to the ground. "Jeez, we couldn't have killed her _ before _lunch?"  
  
    "No, turn her more this way," Calavicci told him as he wiped the gun clear of fingerprints, "If Wilson shot her from this angle, she'd fall that way. Trust me." He motioned the weapon in the general direction he was indicating, making no effort to get up and help. He kept his eyes away from the corpse.   
  
    Beckett glanced up, at first annoyed, but then smirked. "You're acting like this is the first murder we've staged."   
  
    "Hey, all it takes is one mistake, and Zoey'll have our dingledongs in a vice."   
  
    "Yeah, well, it wouldn't be the first time." It was best not to dwell on it. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he flopped down against the wall to take a break.  
  
    While polishing the gun, Calavicci's attention wandered the room until something caught his eye. "Look, Sam, they got Sea Monkeys. My sixth, no...fourth...? Yeah, fourth wife, she was really into those."   
  
    "Oh yeah?" Beckett craned his head up at the dresser for a closer look. "I had a set of those when I was a kid. Katie ordered them in the mail."   
  
    "Never looked like they did in the ad though. With the crowns and everything."   
  
    "One of life's great disappointments."   
  
    Suddenly struck with an idea, Calavicci clapped his hands. "Mm," he took his cigar out of his mouth and pointed, "Turn that shit off." Curious, Beckett reached up, took the needle off the record, and the song stopped.   
  
    Calavicci lifted his legs and spun around in his seat to face the piano behind him. Cracking his fingers, he turned melodramatically over his shoulder to face Beckett. "An ode to lost friends..." He glanced down at the body. "...and flushed Sea Monkeys." With a great flourish, he began to plink at the piano keys at random. It sounded like a cat was running along it. When he cleared his throat, Beckett made the horrifying realization he was going to sing. "Somewhere.... beYOND the seaaa..." Good lord. He couldn't carry a tune in a paper sack.   
  
    Beckett began to cackle. "Stop, Al! You're killing me!" But that only made him sing louder. Having had enough of this torture, Beckett decided to take action. He yanked himself up, took a seat next to him, and slapped his hands away. "Okay, let me show you how it's done." It had been years since he'd played, and only seldom did he have the opportunity. But his fingers found the keys as easily as if the piano were an extension of him, like he'd never stopped. He began to sing the song, properly, as it should've been heard before Calavicci butchered it.   
  
    He'd only meant to play a few bars, just to show him up. But now that he'd started...  
  
    "Happy we'll be beyond the sea, and never again I'll go sailing..."   
  
    Calavicci listened intently, sucking on his cigar. The atmosphere had become oddly serene.   
  
    A whimper broke the moment, and Beckett abruptly stopped. He'd almost forgotten. Just for a moment.   
  
    The two of them looked back. "Ah." Calavicci looked at Beckett. He covered up the tenseness with a small grin. "We should put Wilson out of his misery, huh?" The man on the floor, bound and gagged, sobbed in terror. Soon, he'd have a hole in his head and a suicide note at his side.   
  
    Beckett held out a pair of gloves. "It's your turn."  
  
    He'd done the lifting; it was only fair. They had a good rhythm going with their work. Synchronicity. It hadn't always been that way...  
  
\-----  
  
    "AAAAH!" The electric prod bit into Beckett's side like a venomous snake. The chains binding him rattled against the ceiling, digging into his wrists. "Shit! I'm going to fucking kill you!" He spit at Calavicci, who hung raggedly beside him. As far as their first assignment together was concerned, it went about as well as a brush fire.   
  
    "Hey, don't blame me! You were the one who fucked this up!" Calavicci screamed as he, too, was prodded.   
  
    "Don't you dare..." Beckett said between breaths, "I wouldn't have gotten caught if you hadn't left me behind to get shot by the police!"   
  
    "You deserved it, you bastard. Don't act like you didn't do the same thing when you snitched me out in the first place."  
  
    Beckett sniffed. "It was part of the plan. I knew we'd be retrieved before it mattered. Listen to me; I've had more experience with this than you."   
  
    "Part of the plan, huh? The one you didn't let me in on? That's rich."   
  
    There was the prod again. Zoey watched from the corner, her mouth upturned. At least _ someone _was having a good time. Calavicci gave her the evil eye, while Beckett kept his head down. He hadn't learned just how petty she was yet. Or maybe he didn't care. She reminded him of one of those pukes from the Hanoi Hilton, and he made sure to let them know how he felt too. The prod hit him again.  
  
    "It would've worked if you weren't such a fucking moron!" Beckett hissed, "I'd be better off on these leaps alone!"   
  
    "And if I had any choice in it, I'd agree. But since we've been shafted together, I just want you to know one thing: If we were on that leap again, I'd do it exactly the same." Then Calavicci turned to Beckett and grinned defiantly. "I'd rather go through this song and dance here than spend another loathsome minute with you, shit-for-brains."  
  
    "The feeling's mutual, dickhead."   
  
    Two prods struck them in the backs and they screamed in unison. The only bit of synchronicity they'd had since their unwilling partnership. This was not going to work.   
_  
\-------  
  
    Calavicci scratched the back of his head. "Ah, my memory's not so good anymore, Sam."   
  
    "C'mon," Beckett egged him on enthusiastically, "You never forget a lay." He subtly motioned toward a small group of women gathered around the coffee maker. "Now which ones did you sleep with in this timeline?"   
  
    Calavicci chuckled, raising his hands in mock defeat. "Okay, okay, uhhh, lessee...her, her..." He pointed. "Her in the copying room...twice." He lowered his eyelids and licked his lips. "Ooh, Sam, I wish I weren't a hologram, so I could make it a third time..."   
  
    Beckett suppressed a laugh into his cup. Another woman caught his eye. "And what about her?" He jerked his head toward that Sammy Jo woman he'd met. She joined the women with the coffee.   
  
    Suddenly tickled, Calavicci bit his lip. "Uh, no...not her." The handlink began to make noise in his pocket.   
  
    "Why not? She looks like your type."   
  
    Concentrated on the handlink now, Calavicci shook the glowing triangle. "Well, that's true, but, heh...doing the bingo bango bongo with your best friend's daughter is in poor taste."   
  
    Beckett nearly choked on his water. "What? Stop shitting me." He scrutinized the woman more closely. They weren't aged that far apart. "He would've been what, 13 when...?" No, he'd definitely remember _that_.   
  
    "That's the best part," Calavicci explained with amusement, "He slipped between the sheets on a leap, and then out comes little miss genius here. Oh, and she has no idea. So much for Saint Beckett, huh?" The handlink shrieked more angrily, and he tensed up. "Ah, listen, I'd better check in with them. I'll see ya soon." With the press of a button, the multicolored door to their Project opened up. He stepped back into it and disappeared.   
  
    Beckett was floored. His skin began to crawl. Now he felt decidedly more awkward about some of the things he was thinking about Sammy Jo...but the knot in his stomach had more to do with everything else.   
  
    He could sort of see it, now that he was looking for it. Her nose, the slant of her eyebrows, the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled.   
  
    He had a daughter.   
  
    Suddenly feeling sick, he set down his cup and made a hasty retreat into the hallway.   
  
\-------  
  
    Oh yeah, just drop that one on him casually and then leave. Real class act, Calavicci. Maybe this shit was easy for him because he could exit at any time, but he was stuck here. Surrounded by people that were close to him that he didn't know in the slightest. His daughter that wasn't really his daughter. The wife he never married, who looked at him like he was worth a damn. A legacy he never had the chance to leave behind. It would be easier if he were a stranger, and not encased inside his own skin.   
  
    Running his hand through his hair, he leaned back against the wall. This was more difficult than he'd expected.  
  
    "Heya, Sam."  
  
    Beckett growled in frustration. He didn't need to be pestered by a hologram right now, not when he'd gotten a rare two seconds alone in this place. "Didn't you have something to--?" He lifted his head and stopped himself.  
  
    It was the other Al, taken aback by his tone. "Something to what?"  
  
    "Uh...nothing. I thought you were someone else."  
  
    Al nodded; he seemed to buy it. Beckett breathed a secret sigh of relief. Bullet dodged. "What're you doing in the hallway all alone?"   
  
    "Do I need a chaperone?" Beckett couldn't help it; the retort just slipped out. He mentally kicked himself.   
  
    Al lifted his hands peacefully. "No, course not. Just figured you'd want to spend time with everyone now that you're back. I mean, it _has_ been six years."   
  
    Beckett realized he needed to cool his temper or he'd blow this. He'd have to play the trauma card again. Looking remorseful for his attitude, he nodded and apologized. "I'm sorry, Al. I do. I'm just...getting used to being home again. Taking it slow."  
  
    "Yeah. Yeah, it's a lot to take in all at once."   
  
    Good. The sucker was eating it right up. Beckett bit back a grin.   
  
    A beat. Al scratched the back of his head nervously and shifted his weight. "Sam, I wanted to ask...are you okay?"   
  
    Beckett paused. Al was watching him with concern, like he used to. Before he replaced him. "I'm fine." He put on a reassuring smile.  
  
    "You sure?"  
  
    "Positive."  
  
    "Alright." Nodding, Al put his hands in his pockets, staring at the floor contemplatively. He shrugged. "But if you change your mind...you can always talk to me. You know my ears are always open."   
  
    Beckett hated how much Al's concern meant to him, because he knew it was false. It wasn't really for him. It was for the other Sam. Beckett had loathed Al for so long because he'd replaced him with this imposter, left him to his madness and trapped him in his hell again. That's why Beckett had kept going, for his chance to get revenge, so Al Calavicci could share in the misery he'd caused.   
  
    The insane thing was, a small voice within him was begging to reach out and be hurt again.   
  
    "Am I interrupting anything?" It was Donna, back from her funding trip. She looked exhausted from her flight, but it hadn't dampened her positive mood. Odd for someone who had just been schmoozing government types for money.   
  
    Beckett straightened himself up, took a step back from Al. "No. How'd the trip go?"   
  
    "Oh, I found what I was looking for," Donna said coyly. On her cue, a smiling figure approached from around the corner. "Surprise!"   
  
    Beckett's breath caught in his chest, and suddenly his whole world came crashing down around him. No one was in this hallway but him and the other man. Suddenly, he was 16 years old again, and his voice was very small. "...Tom?"   
  
    "Hello, little brother."   
  
    Large arms enveloped around him, and for a short while Beckett's body refused to respond. Eventually he must have returned the embrace, because he found himself holding on as tightly as he could. All of the grievances of the last thirty years melted away, and all that was left was the indescribable impact of his brother's chest against his. He never thought he'd see him again; by all rights he _shouldn't_ have seen him again--but this timeline was different. This time, he'd saved him.   
  
    His brother was alive.

 


	4. Chapter 4

    Beckett couldn't stop staring. Tom just looked so _old_. For thirty years, the image he had of his brother had always been the last one: a grinning 22-year-old, waving goodbye as he left for Vietnam and came back in a box. Only, in this timeline, it didn't happen that way. Now he was 54, and he had a family, and he was living and breathing, and he was just so wonderfully _old_.   
  
    Beckett wished he could remember when he came back. He desperately yearned for the memories of the years after, of growing up with him, of seeing him become the man in front of him. But as painful as it was to not have them, it was reduced to a dull ache by simply having him here.   
  
    He might've even felt happy.  
  
    "Mom and Katie wanted to come," Tom said, "but Katie's got the kids, you know. And Mom's health isn't as good as it used to be."  
  
    "It isn't?" He hadn't thought about that. How could he have forgotten them? He'd left them for so long.   
  
    Tom shook his head. "No. It'd mean a lot if you came to visit them."  
  
    "I will," Beckett reassured him, "Soon." He wasn't sure why he was making this promise. He'd be gone shortly.   
  
    Tom grinned at the response, but it faded away. "We thought you were dead." He huffed. "That...something had happened to you, and they were covering it up to keep this project going."   
  
    Across from him, seated in his other self's chair, Beckett was stiff and silent.   
  
    "Not at first, obviously," Tom continued, "When you disappeared, we just figured you were caught up in your work...like when you missed Dad's funeral. But now I don't think that was it either."   
  
    Beckett's cheeks flushed with shame; he bore the sin as his own. He couldn't look him in the eye. "I'm...I'm sorry."   
  
    "You don't need to apologize. I'm not mad at you. I haven't been for a long time." A surprised Beckett looked up, and he could see Tom meant it. Why? "I know you have your reasons for doing what you did. And when I saw you on the news, I..." He stopped, took a deep breath. "God, Sam...I just wanna know what happened."   
  
    He didn't know how badly Beckett wanted to tell him every last detail. About who he really was, and what he'd been through. How much it meant to him that he was alive. The inside of him screamed. _Just tell him! Tell him! Someone has to know!  
_  
    But he couldn't. So many lies depended on his silence.   
  
    He swallowed. With overwhelming regret, he whispered, "I...I can't tell you."   
  
    Tom's mouth was a hard line. He rubbed his hands together, contemplating his fingers. At last, he gave a silent nod of acknowledgement. He looked Beckett in the eye, an earnest request. "But you will. Someday?"   
  
    Beckett nodded timidly. "I will. God, I will. Tom, I..." His voice cracked. "I love you. I missed you so much."   
  
    Tom's arms were around him again. He was protected, warm, a long forgotten memory. "I missed you too, little brother. You don't know how much it means to see you again."   
  
    Yes he did.  
  
\-------  
  
    They spent the rest of the night talking. Beckett lost track of the time; they only stopped when Donna came back in to sleep. With yet another gut wrenching promise to come visit, Beckett watched his brother walk away again.  
  
    This time, Beckett vowed to himself, it wouldn't be the last.  
  
    Donna fell asleep with her arms wrapped around him, a content smile on her face. He couldn't be the cause of her joy. Not Sam Beckett. He was too hollow to fill anyone else.   
  
    He couldn't sleep, and so he snuck away again. It wasn't quite late enough for the hallways to be completely empty; a few graveyard shifts or insomniacs went about their business, greeting him with cups of coffee to keep them awake. He didn't need any help; his thoughts were too tangled and thick.   
  
    So much so, he ran into Sammy Jo, whose nose was stuck to a clipboard. "Oh! Sorry, I--" She noticed it was him with wide eyes. "Sa--Dr. Beckett. You're up late." She adjusted her overly-large reading glasses.   
  
    "Oh, I, uh, couldn't sleep." Awkwardly, he rubbed his arm. It seemed right to...make things up to her somehow. "What's that?"   
  
    "Hm?" He inclined his head toward the clipboard. "Oh!" She smacked her forehead and laughed nervously. "It's silly, really. I'm still trying to figure out the retrieval program. I'd really like to know why it failed. Actually, I was going to ask you about it, but...well, you're busy with...other things." She bit her lip, feeling stupid.   
  
    "I don't think it's silly," Beckett said uncertainly. How did fathers talk to daughters? He rubbed the back of his neck. "You're, uhhh...you're really smart, so you'll figure it out. You don't need my help."  
  
    Her eyes got bigger and her mouth hung open, a mixture of flattery and shock. "Th-Thanks, Dr. Beckett, but...I'm not nearly as smart as you."  
  
    When it came to quantum physics, she was probably wrong. He didn't exactly have time to study it at his project. Still, he didn't really want to turn her down. "Well, I...maybe I can look over it with you. When I have time."   
  
    Half of her face was taken up by a dimpled smile. "I'd like that, Dr. Beckett."   
  
    Beckett grinned shakily back. Hesitantly. "...Sam."   
  
    "Sam," she repeated happily. His daughter held out her hand, and tentatively he accepted it. She shook it firmly. "It's a deal." She flashed another winning smile, and she left with a new spring in her step. Beckett watched her with an odd sense of pride. He gently touched his hand where he'd clasped hers.   
  
    "She's not really yours, Sam." The stern, gravelly voice came from behind. He didn't turn around, so Calavicci circled to make sure he faced him. Dourly, he warned, "None of this is yours."   
  
    Beckett's response was short. "I know that."  
  
    "You can't get attached. Did you forget the mission?"   
  
    "You think I can't keep it separated?"   
  
    Calavicci wasn't playing around. He leaned in closer to make sure Beckett got his message, loud and clear. "I think you need to remember what they did to us, instead of driving down memory lane with Tom and goin' around playin' Daddy Dearest!"   
  
    Beckett's anger had been boiling just under the surface, and now it exploded into the forefront. He spit out, "Tom didn't do this! Sammy Jo didn't! This was YOUR fault!" He pointed an enraged finger through his holographic chest.   
  
    Calavicci went quiet, he leaned back. "You mean _his_ fault."   
  
    Beckett froze. He blinked. "I...I mean his fault." Then, under his breath, "Fuck."   
  
    He didn't need this. Quickly pivoting around, he marched down the hall and away from his holographic irritation.   
  
\-------  
  
    The door to Sam's office slammed shut, and Beckett leaned against it in a fury. Gulping in barely contained breaths, he shut his eyes and tried to drown out his thoughts.   
  
    _Don't fuck this up. Don't fuck this up. Don't fuck this up or they'll kill you.  
_  
    It wasn't fair. It just wasn't damn fair!  
  
    This wasn't working. He quickly turned the record player back on in a desperate bid to distract himself. Telephone Line.   
  
    Of course. He hung his head. After a moment, he stalked over to the shelf and picked up the picture of himself at Carnegie Hall. Tom would've been alive then, this time around. His younger self's joy could be read on every part of his face as he played. He just didn't understand how he could screw it up so badly. Not _him_ , the other him. How could he have everything and waste it? He had the prestige and the awards and the respect, but he didn't go to his own father's goddamn funeral. He was so caught up in his own glory, he left everyone and everything behind to clean up the mess. He couldn't take responsibility for his daughter or his wife or...his best friend.   
  
    _His fault. His fault. His fault.  
_  
    He was a genuine, glorified, narcissistic _asshole_. And he didn't. Deserve. _Anything!_  
  
    In an explosion of anger, he yelled and smashed the picture into the wall. The glass had barely touched the ground before he'd picked up another, of him and Al in a patch of desert with shovels, and hurled it across the room. He ripped the diplomas from the wall, broke down the awards, and soon his rage simply crashed into anything his eyes fell on. He had to destroy everything Sam Beckett had built.  
  
    And then he saw it again. That damn piano.   
  
    He picked up a hefty bookend, and slammed it down onto the piano. And again. And again. _Again! Again! Again!_ His knuckles split when he missed. Wood splintered and broke and the keys made an awful sound, a twisted disharmony with the music. He screamed and hit and imagined blood and bones with each crushing blow. He didn't hear security come in, nor did he care. Nothing mattered but his reign of destruction. Nothing mattered but to tear it down.   
  
    "Sam! Sam! SAM!" A hand grasped onto his elbow to stop him and he violently pulled away, finding a shocked Al standing there in his robe.   
  
    "Don't touch me or I'll bash your brains in! I swear I will!" Wild eyed, he lifted the bookend as a weapon.   
  
    Al immediately jumped away. "Whoa! Hey! It's me, Sam!" The security behind him started forward, but he lifted his hand for them to stop. "It's just me."  
  
    "Sam?" It was Donna. She stepped up beside Al, eyeing the scene with alarm.   
  
    "It's not me!" Beckett screamed, flailing his arm at the pieces of his life on the floor, "It's not me! Can't you see that?!" They were staring, all staring. He gasped for breath. His weapon fell limply to his side, and he sniffled. Then, resentfully, "How could you forgive me? How could you?!"   
  
    The bookend fell to the floor. He collapsed to his knees.   
  
    "How could you?"  
  
    He folded in on himself, buried his head under his hands. Donna rushed to his side and fell on top of him, whispering soothing words.   
  
    And Al could only watch, mouth agape, flabbergasted.  
  
\-------  
  
    "I knew it. We threw too much at him at once. We shoulda eased him into it, shoulda..."   
  
    "Al."   
  
    "...shoulda done somethin'."  
  
    "Al, I don't think you did anything wrong." Verbena leaned against her desk as Al paced the room. He ran his hand down his face and pivoted back.   
  
    "How could we not see it, Beeks? I mean, I knew something was wrong, but I didn't think it was _this_ bad. The kid's having a full blown breakdown."   
  
    "It's natural for Sam to feel a sense of disassociation with his identity. After all, he spent six years being someone else. It'll just take time and patience."   
  
    "This is a little different than your average head case, Beeks," Al argued, "There could be serious side effects to leaping that we don't even know about. What if he came back different?" Al's eyes widened and he fell into a chair. "What if he never recovers?"   
  
    Verbena was calm and assuring. "I have full confidence Sam will return back to normal, Al. He just might need to take it slower. He'll adjust on his own time."   
  
    Al nodded, absorbed the information, and wrung his hands. Unsure, he asked, "So I mean...what do I do?"   
  
    Verbena leaned in importantly. She revealed a hint of a smile. "Be his friend."  
  
\-------  
  
_Gritting his teeth, Calavicci did his best to hide his limp as he and his unwilling partner walked in silence. He'd made another escape attempt, and that had backfired fuckin' spectacularly. Really, he was lucky to be walking this quickly. Ha, luck. That was something in extremely short supply lately.  
  
    The kid was no help, coward that he was. He'd said there was no point in it, that he'd tried so many times before. Well he just wasn't persistent enough. He didn't know how resourceful Al Calavicci was. Soon, he'd find the crack in their armor and he'd be gone, and Beckett would be stuck in that hellhole and kicking himself for doubting him. That was most people's problem; they didn't have enough faith in the Comeback Kid.  
  
    But then again, Beckett didn't actually know him as well as he knew him. As far as he was concerned, their relationship had only been a few months. A few terrible months. And in those few months they'd liked each other less and less, and this was starting from the bottom. Frankly, he was beginning to doubt how well their agreement to unite against a common enemy was going to pan out, on account of their seething hatred for one another. On the bright side, they weren't trying to murder each other nearly as often these days.   
  
    He wasn't used to this kind of leaping. Goin' around making wrong what once went right... This was new. But he'd suffered enough because of so-called white knights; now he was perfectly okay with watching the world burn. It was hard to believe he had spent so much time on the other side. What good had heroes ever done him?   
  
    But then again. This leap was going to be the real test.   
  
    He rooted around his host's pockets; found the keys. The door swung open and he and Beckett walked casually inside.   
  
    He took in the picturesque little home with a crinkled nose. "Oh good, we've leaped into _ The Stepford Wives _."  
  
    "Let's just get this over with." Beckett pushed past him.  
  
    "What's the matter?" Calavicci sneered, "Don't you wanna see where Joan Crawford keeps the wire hangers?"   
  
    Beckett spun around with annoyance. "Am I gonna have to listen to your stupid jokes every leap?"   
  
    "Depends. Are you gonna get that stick out of your ass any time soon?"   
  
    "Just stick to the mission so we can get the hell out of here."  
  
    "Jeez, I didn't realize they removed your _ sense of humor _."  
  
    Glowering, Beckett took a few menacing steps forward and spat accusatorially, "Maybe I lost it in the time stream. That kind of place tends to make you forget how to have a good chuckle."   
  
    Calavicci's smirk went away. His eyelids lowered. "I know. I remember."  
  
    Pausing, Beckett went quiet and stepped back, running a hand through his hair.   
  
    "Now now, boys. I do hope you're getting along." The new voice made the two of them more rigid. Subtly, but enough to make a difference. Zoey watched them with careful amusement, tapping her long, crimson nails against the handlink. "We wouldn't want to disappoint Lothos, would we?"  
  
    "Is she coming or not?" Beckett asked.   
  
    Zoey inclined her head toward the door. "She's outside. Be ready. And...remember what we told you." Her eyes flicked toward Calavicci, who met her gaze but gave away nothing.   
  
    Beckett watched this exchange wordlessly.   
  
    The knob began to turn. They got into position.   
  
    A beautiful young woman with a bob of brown hair peeked inside. Her face lit up when she saw Calavicci. "Oh, you're home early, honey! What's the occasion?"   
  
    Lightning quick, Beckett's arms wrapped around her from behind. She screamed, and his hand clapped onto her mouth and muffled the noise.   
  
    For a moment, Calavicci was frozen. He hadn't expected her to look so much like Beth.   
  
    But that shouldn't change things, right? The job was the same. Right? She deserved it. Like they all deserved it. Right?  
  
    "Do it," Zoey ordered.   
  
    He lifted the kitchen knife. The woman struggled uselessly to escape as he shuffled forward. Fuck, he wished he hadn't looked her in the eye.   
  
    Then he met Beckett's gaze.  
  
    "_ Do it! _" Zoey hissed again.  
  
    Do it! Do it! Do it! He couldn't think, just do. He knew what the consequences would be if he didn't. With a scream, he rammed the knife straight into her gut. The sound coming from her penetrated as deep as the knife, and he knew he had to stop it. The blade slid out like butter, and he stabbed her again and again. Blood oozed out of the wound and onto the two leapers, and the woman was finally silent. The body slipped to the floor. The knife clanged down after her.   
  
    Calavicci stared at the body, petrified. Drip, drip, drip, went the blood from his hands to the floor.   
  
    Zoey's lip curled up in wry amusement. "Good boy." The door to the Project opened, and she disappeared.  
  
    Beckett studied Calavicci in quiet contemplation. The other man didn't move. He simply sat there in horror. A baffling reaction, for someone who had been so enthused to kill him months before.   
  
    "She's not getting any deader."  
  
    Calavicci blinked. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the woman on the floor. "I--I've never...uh, I mean, I have, but...but it was always war, or...or self-defense. Never, uh, never...like..."  
  
    Then Beckett understood. He'd been thinking of Calavicci as this heartless bastard, when in reality...he was a novice, and Beckett was the seasoned professional. And today was the day the unfixable line was crossed. There was no turning back, no escaping the ever-expanding black hole they'd found themselves drawn into.   
  
    Beckett remembered his first too. He'd never forget. The memory still wormed its way into his dreams, if he let it.   
  
    He lifted his tremulous hand, made to make some sort of gesture. But he hesitated just short of the other man's shoulder. Like opposing magnets, his hand was pushed away. He couldn't do it.  
  
    He lowered his hand and stepped into his line of vision. Finally able to look away, Calavicci glanced up at him.   
  
    For the first time since they'd been forced to work together, Beckett was sympathetic. "It gets easier." _  
  
\-------  
  
    Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck!_ Beckett sat with his knees close and clutched his head. How could he let his emotions get the better of him? He should've prepared himself better for this sort of thing. But he thought his drive for revenge was stronger than his sentimentality. None of this could be his, no matter how badly he wanted it. The Project would find him, and that was a fate worse than death.   
  
    They knew now. They had to know. Donna's comforting had been a lie, to trick him into thinking they didn't. So they could figure out what to do with him. And it had been a distressingly long time since he'd heard from Calavicci; his own Project must be deciding how to handle him. Either he got out and was punished by his project, or his road ended here; he was a dead man either way. Now he waited alone in his quarters until his fate was determined.   
  
    The door slid up and he jerked to attention. Al made his way inside.   
  
    _Don't let the son of a bitch see you sweat. Don't give him the satisfaction._    
  
    Beckett straightened up defiantly, teeth clenched, mouth a hard line, tried to gauge his response.   
  
    He couldn't read him. Al looked him up and down. "Hey Sam. Why aren't you dressed?" he asked through the cigar in his teeth.   
  
    Beckett blinked. "...what?"   
  
    "C'mon, get out of your PJs. We're goin' on a trip. I'll meet you in the parking lot in 20 minutes." With a disarming smile, Al left the room and Beckett in his bafflement.   
  
\-------  
  
    As far as punishments went, Beckett wasn't sure what to make of this. He was sitting in the passenger's side of Al's convertible as they drove through the desert, loud music playing, Al tapping his hand against the steering wheel, and waiting for the other shoe to drop. What did he have in mind? Was he taking him somewhere to be locked away? Some secret government facility where they got rid of problems the public shouldn't know about?   
  
    After a half hour or so they came to a stop, but Beckett saw no such facility. He didn't see much of anything actually. That is, other than the deep gorge in front of them.   
  
    "Look alive, Sammy," Al joked, "We're here!" He exited the car and made his way to the back. Beckett, on the other hand, stayed firmly in the vehicle.   
  
    When he came back around, he held a golf club. Beckett tensed up. Was he going to kill him out here? Hit him over the head, throw his body into the gorge? Shit!   
  
    Al held the golf club out to him. Beckett gaped.   
  
    "It's not gonna bite, Sam. Go on, take it."   
  
    Trepidatiously, Beckett did just that. Al lifted up his own golf club and began to trek toward the hole.   
  
    A cautious Beckett finally left the vehicle. "What is this?"  
  
    "You've been cooped up too long, Sam," Al said. Grunting, he crouched down, pulling up his slacks for comfort, and searched the ground. He found a golf ball-sized rock and straightened up. "After that little, uh, show last night, I figure you might need a better place to vent your frustrations. And whenever I'm feeling pent up..." He placed the rock near the edge of the gorge. "...I like to come here." With a _thwack!_ of his club, the rock went sailing away.   
  
    "You're kidding me."   
  
    "I never joke around." Al looked back and winked.   
  
    "You're not...mad at me?"   
  
    Al turned around, furrowed his brows. Beckett remained guarded as he stepped toward him. "Of course not. Sam...I was there too. And whatever you need to do to get through...whatever it is you’re going through, I'm here. I'm not gonna abandon you." He smiled and placed his hand on Beckett's shoulder.   
  
    It couldn't be that easy. They couldn't _still_ forgive him. Couldn't still care about him. Why couldn't he move his hand away?  
  
    "Now," Al continued, breaking contact, "We can't use real golf balls, because we don't want to be mucking up the desert with our junk. But this'll work just the same." He picked up another rock and handed it to Beckett.   
  
    Beckett rubbed his thumb over it. Imagined it was something else; Zoey laughing at him. That bitch. He stepped closer to the gorge, placed it on the ground...and _thwack!_ No more Zoey!   
  
    "Nice swing, Sam!"   
  
    Beckett hit another one. There went Thames. And another. That was Alia. Another. Another. Another. And that, _that_ was Sam fucking Beckett!   
  
    The entire time, Al cheered him on as he knocked rocks into the pit with him. Beckett's senses were filled with heat, applause, and cigar smoke. And he allowed himself a small smile.   
  
\-------  
  
    "You remember this place, Sam? It's kind of dive, but...well, I guess that's the point. No one's gonna bother you here."   
  
    No kidding. The tiny restaurant was located just short of Nowhere, the wooden exterior weathered and the paint worn. A single car was parked outside, and that had to belong to whoever was working there. All signs indicated that this was not a location known for fine dining.   
  
    Beckett raised an eyebrow. "They make a good short stack?"  
  
    "Something like that," Al answered with a wobbly hand, "But you forgot the best feature." He opened the door, motioning politely inside.  
  
    There was a junky old piano.    
  
    Al stepped up beside him, grinning ear to ear. "I figured since your piano is, uh, out of commission, you might like to get out and try this one for a spin again."  
  
    Of course he had no memories of playing this piano, or of this place. But he felt like he wanted to sit down and play again.   
  
    Could he?  
  
    He looked toward Al. He looked toward the piano.   
  
    An older woman stepped in from the back. Her jaw dropped in pleasant surprise. "Dr. Beckett! Welcome back!" She grinned and put a fist to her hip, eyes motioning toward the piano. "Are you gonna play again?"   
  
    "I...I don't know if I..."   
  
    "Go on, Sam." Al was smirking knowingly.   
  
    Nervously, Beckett approached the bench and took a seat. He lifted the cover, leaving fingerprints in the dust. He stared at the keys.   
  
    His index finger plinked against one, held it down, just to hear it. His middle finger landed on the one next to it.   
  
    Al sat down beside him.  
  
    Beckett's fingers hovered over the keys. Smoke furled into his nostrils. He cleared his throat. Bit back his smile. He remembered a song he'd learned on his leaps. It was still perfectly memorized in his head. "This is, um...this is an old favorite of mine."   
  
    Slowly, he began to press the keys. As the melody became more familiar, Al's grin began to widen.   
  
    "Tonight, I'm gonna have myself a real good time...I feel aliiiiive..."   
  
    By now, the woman's husband had joined her. The two of them clapped enthusiastically. Al laughed. Beckett's smile grew and grew.  
  
    "So don't stop me now..."   
  
    Then Al leaned in and joined him with excitement. "Don't stop me, 'cause I'm having a good time, having a good time!"   
  
    The music got faster and louder, and so did their voices. Even the husband and wife at the diner had joined in. Al's voice was a wonderful disharmony to Beckett's perfect pitch, and Beckett felt something he hadn't felt in a long time: a filling of the aching in his chest. A sense of belonging. Loving acceptance.   
  
    Joy.   
  
    He continued to sing with gusto, dipping up and down to the rhythm, and Al wrapped his arm around him jovially. Beckett at last felt like the boy in the picture.   
  
    And nearby, unknown to either of them, a hologram watched on jealously.  
  
\-------  
  
_Hands behind his head, eyes closed, Calavicci laid in bed and cast his thoughts far away. Problem was, he wasn't sure where to daydream to. He didn't have anywhere to go back to, now that his timeline didn't exist. He had no family. No friends. Nowhere to run.  
  
    He heard footsteps outside his door. He smirked.   
  
    It was the kid. He might've been one stubborn son of a bitch, but he was smart, and oh so good at breaking into things. And he'd taken to nightly visits to his cell, where the two of them would commiserate and keep themselves from going mad. It was one of the few things he looked forward to.   
  
    The door opened and Beckett slinked inside.   
  
    Calavicci cracked open one eye. "You're late."   
  
    A pack of cards was tossed onto his chest. "Just deal, wiseass." Calavicci laughed and sat up, taking out the cards and beginning to shuffle. Beckett leaned against the wall and slid to the ground. "They almost caught me tonight. Luckily Zoey was too drunk to notice."   
  
    Calavicci glanced up. Neither of them were sure if they were smart, or the Project simply allowed them these late night visits. He returned his attention to the cards. "Did they tell you?"  
  
    "Hm?"  
  
    "The next leap. They're trying me out as an Observer." He looked up at Beckett with a twinkle in his eye. "Just like old times, huh?" He laughed, and Beckett followed suit. But the other man cast his eyes away as he did, licked his lips and focused on the cards he was dealt. It wasn't old times for him. The only Observers he'd known were his jailers. That's not anything Calavicci wanted to be. He put down the stack and grabbed his own cards. "I, uh...it wasn't my choice," he said apologetically.   
  
    But in response, Beckett grinned. "Just don't fuck it up. I'll be counting on you."   
  
    Calavicci loosened up with relief, and Beckett placed his first card down. It was an immense weight off his shoulders to know there wasn't any blame there, that he still had his partner. Because in the end, all they had was each other. There was nothing else left but their fellow inmate dressed as their mortal enemy.   
  
    And once he stopped hating him, he realized he loved him.   
_  
\-------  
  
    Be Sam's friend, and give him the space he needs. That's what he'd decided. So after their day out, Al left Sam on his own and went about his own business. Which, now that Sam wasn't leaping anymore, equated to a lot of boring paperwork. But he was happy to see that his friend was starting to act a bit more like his old self. Jeez louise, it had gotten a bit scary last night. Maybe now things could get back to the way they were before.   
  
    Whistling to himself, he entered the code to his office and placed his palm on the scanner. Before he could go in, however, he was approached by an out of breath Gooshie.   
  
    "Admiral Calavicci!"   
  
    Al recoiled back. "Jeez, Goosh, watch where you're breathing! That mouth's a deadly weapon." He straightened out his Hawaiian shirt, which had begun to wilt under the powerful stench.   
  
    "Oh." The programmer took a step back, catching his breath. Then Al noticed his worried expression. "S-Sorry, but this is urgent."   
  
    "What's up?"  
  
    "You need to see this right away."   
  
\-------  
  
    "Remember that glitch with Ziggy?"   
  
    "Yeah...?"  
  
    "Welllll...it wasn't exactly a glitch," Gooshie explained nervously, "We...found evidence of sabotage."   
  
    Al straightened up, the beginnings of anger directing itself at the hapless programmer as it had so many times before. Gooshie shrunk back. "Somebody was messing with Ziggy? Who?"  
  
    "That's what you need to see." Fiddling with the controls with jittery hands, Gooshie quickly pulled up the file he was looking for. "After we discovered that, we used a backdoor code that finally got us access to the security footage, and...well, see for yourself." With a tap of the keyboard, the video began to play.   
  
    And Al slowly sunk into his seat, dumbfounded.


	5. Chapter 5

    Stomach comfortably sore from laughing, body tired from fulfillment, Beckett entered his quarters and relaxed against the door. He'd almost forgotten the freedom of music. He'd missed it. And he'd missed...  
  
    "Have a nice day, did we?"  
  
    His head swiveled to the left. Calavicci hovered in the shadows, eyelids low, smoke drifting around him.   
  
    "How was the Project?" Beckett asked sarcastically, "Still a barrel of fun?" He made his way further inside, looking for a change of clothes.   
  
    Calavicci followed him. "Lothos is getting very impatient, you know. He's not happy with you spending your time palling around with the locals."   
  
    "What else was I supposed to do?" Beckett shrugged a single shoulder as he buttoned up his new shirt. "We're not supposed to kill them. So I have to play nice."   
  
    "Is that what you call that? Playing nice?"   
  
    Beckett glanced back. Calavicci's face was black and stony; he didn’t find this nearly as funny as he did. He laughed. "What're you, jealous?"   
  
    One stubby finger pointed, Calavicci closed the distance between them in two wide steps. "You listen to me. The mission ends tonight. You download that information and get the hell out of here."   
  
    There was silence for a moment. Beckett stopped buttoning.   
  
    When he saw the hesitation, Calavicci's eyes narrowed. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. He squared his shoulders. "You want to stay...don't you?"  
  
    When Beckett faced him again, he looked ready to deny it at first. But then he got cocky. He spread out his arms. "What if I did? Who's gonna stop me? I didn't leap here."  
  
    "You know damn well what'll happen if you don't come back!" Calavicci shouted furiously, "They'll find you and turn your skin into a new rug! Not to mention, they'll boil _my_ ass alive!"   
  
    "They'd have to get me first," Beckett pointed out confidently, "And they can't come in here without clearance. That's why they had to send me in in the first place." He chuckled and put on a new pair of pants.  
  
    Calavicci's shoulders sagged. The words stung. Quietly, he asked, “You'd really leave me behind like that?"   
  
    The question seemed to sink in, and Beckett realized the power of his statement. He couldn’t turn around. Failing to have a response, he focused on his shoes.   
  
    Regaining some of his fire and taking advantage of the weakness in his resolve, Calavicci stepped up close, speaking into his ear like the devil on his shoulder. "Nothing they've said has been for you. They don't care about you. They care about the other Sam! And they'd kill you if they knew!"   
  
    "Then...then they'll never know." Beckett didn't sound certain this time.   
  
    Calavicci was even closer now. He was inches from his face. "Oh yeah?" he said mockingly, "Tell me this, what happens when their Sam leaps again? That's gonna be a little hard to explain, don't you think?"  
  
    Beckett straightened up and set his jaw, becoming more confident. He looked the hologram square in the eye. "Then I'll just have to make sure he doesn't." With a defiant grin, he started toward the door, leaving a stunned Calavicci behind.   
  
    "Don't you walk away from me, Sam! SAM!"  
  
\-------  
  
    How dare he come in on that high horse? Didn't he know he didn't have to listen anymore? Beckett felt stupid for taking so long to consider it. The good doctor was so protected here, he wouldn't have to worry. He'd be free. He _was_ free. All he had to do was make sure that his other self was out of the picture for good, and that meant destroying his work. It wouldn't be hard.   
  
    Let's see the Project try to find him; he'd put up the fight of his life. Their biggest mistake was thinking they could trust him without a method of retrieval. All they could do was send useless holograms out to taunt him.   
  
    A hologram whose flesh and blood was still there. He'd be punished severely. He might even die.   
  
    Beckett pushed the thought away. Why was he feeling sorry for him? Calavicci had wanted to kill him, after all. They were only working together because they had a greater enemy. An enemy who wouldn't exist after today, because Beckett as he was would not exist.   
  
    Tom. Katie. Mom. Donna. Sammy Jo. Al. Home. All his.   
  
    Speaking of which, Al approached from around the corner. No problem. He had time. "Heya," Beckett greeted him cheerfully.   
  
    "Sam. We need to talk."   
  
    Al was very solemn, and Beckett's grin faded. Something had changed. When he saw the security guards step into view, he altered his stance. "What's going on?"   
  
    "You tell me." Al stepped nearer, knitting his brows and leaning closer to invite him in. "Is there something you wanna get off your chest, Sam?"  
  
    Beckett's eyes shifted warily toward the guards. They kept their distance. It seemed Al had instructed them to stay back. "I don't know what you're talking about."   
  
    Al waited. When Beckett didn't fess up, his mouth tightened in disappointment. Finally, he admitted, "We saw the security footage. We know what you did to Ziggy."   
  
    Immediately, Beckett's heart dropped into his stomach like an anchor.   
  
    Shit. _Shit!_    
  
    No.   
  
    _Shit!_    
  
    Al was slowly edging closer. All of Beckett's plans were crumbling in on themselves. No, not crumbling, _crashing!_ Demolished in one single, devastating explosion. He’d had such a good plan! What about his fucking life?!  
  
    He didn't know what else to do. He couldn't be caught. He had to run.   
  
    Jolting into action, he ducked into the hallway to his right. He could hear the guards following him; he ran as if he were being hunted by a pack of wolves. And that's what he was now: easy prey.   
  
    "Sam! Sam, stop!"  
  
    These halls were too small. This building was too much of a maze. It was not the place to become a victim. Before he knew it, Beckett found himself at a dead end.   
  
    "Fuck!" He spat out, spinning around in search of an escape. Finding none, he slammed his fists into the wall. " _Fuck!_ "   
  
    "Sam, we just wanna talk!" Al was approaching again, motioning for the guards to back away. He was staring with earnest confusion. "No one's gonna hurt you. We just wanna know what's goin' on."  
  
    Beckett licked his lips, panted for breath. His eyes flicked around the room. "I can't...I can't go back..."   
  
    He took his chance. His elbow went into one guard's ribs, and his foot went into another's face. When the elbowed man folded over, Beckett snatched his gun from his holster and immediately fired. He managed to tranquilize two of them before he felt the inevitable pinch in his neck.   
  
    "Damn..." And he collapsed.   
  
\-------  
  
    "What the hell happened? I mean..." Al ran his hand through his hair, eyes huge with bewilderment. "What the hell happened?"   
  
    Donna was biting her nails, studying Sam carefully through the glass. He was pacing the Waiting Room restlessly, mumbling to himself. And high above in the Observatory, Donna and Al watched anxiously. "Something happened when he leapt back. Something he isn't saying."   
  
    "Like what?"   
  
    "I don't know, Al," Donna sighed with exasperation, "But obviously something did to make him behave this way." She turned to face him, placing a begging hand to his arm. "Please find out what it is. Get my husband back."   
  
\-------  
  
_Clunk-whoosh._ Al stepped inside and Beckett stopped pacing.   
  
    "Where are your guards?" he sneered, "Aren't you afraid I'm gonna do somethin' bad?"   
  
    "We were being careful, Sam. You're not acting like yourself." Beckett huffed and plopped down onto the table. Al was softer; he attempted to get in again. "Why'd you do it, kid? What's goin' on with you?"   
  
    Beckett considered his request for a moment. He sighed defeatedly; he looked like he wanted to confess. "I did it...for a Klondike Bar."

    Al pursed his lips. Beckett laughed at his joke and laid back, putting his hands behind his head.   
  
    Al wasn't going to give up that easy. He just needed to make that connection with Sam, get him to open up. "Did someone put you up to this? When you were in the desert? Are--Are they threatening your family or somethin'? We've got resources. Whatever it is, we want to help you, Sam." His friend wasn’t budging. He looked at him pleadingly this time. "Just talk to me."   
  
    Beckett looked over at him thoughtfully before sitting up. He chose not to respond to the questions, instead stating, "You can't keep me here."   
  
    "You're not going anywhere until we figure this out, so you might as well start talkin'."  
  
    "What're you gonna do?" Beckett chuckled, "Turn me in to the police?"   
  
    "We don't want to arrest you, Sam. You're not a prisoner."   
  
    "Then let me go."  
  
    "We can't."   
  
    "Then I'm a prisoner."   
  
    Al was at a loss. He threw his hands up, searching for a better way to put it. He had nothing. He had to admit, the assessment wasn't wrong. He felt like a heel about it. But what else were they supposed to do?  
  
    Losing his patience, Beckett hopped to his feet and stepped forward threateningly. "I run this place, and I demand that you open that door and let me the hell out. Before I fire you."  
  
    Taken aback for a moment, Al narrowed his eyes and shifted his feet. "You can't fire me. We're partners. And..." He puffed up his chest, made sure to show that he wasn't intimidated. "...you're not in your right mind right now, which means _I'm_ in charge. And _I_ say you're staying right here."   
  
    Affronted, Beckett took a step back. It was evident his mind was spinning, looking for his "gotcha!" card. Finding none, he finally seethed, "You can't keep me here forever."   
  
    Now Al had his number. He saw how Sam needed to be handled. Fine, if he wanted a hardass, he’d get a hardass. Not backing down, he squared his shoulders and asked simply, "How long can you hold out?"   
  
    And with that, he casually spun around and walked away.   
  
    This unceremonious dismissal filled Beckett with white hot rage. Racing forward, he yanked him violently around to face him. "Let me out _now_ , you son of a bitch!" He shook him, and within seconds a guard was inside to pull the men apart. Beckett struggled viciously with his opponent as Al gaped in alarm. "Damn it, let me OUT or I'll kill you! I'll make you sorry you were ever born!" Al raised his hands to diffuse the situation as Beckett kicked and screamed, but before he could say anything, he heard something that shocked him. "I'll tear you apart, Captain! I'LL TEAR YOU APART!"   
  
    Al couldn't believe what he'd heard. He could barely stand. Stumbling to steady himself, he said nothing and staggered out of the room. Beckett's screams were silenced by the door.   
  
    Now he knew who the man in the Waiting Room really was.  
  
    He needed Donna _now_.   
  
\-------  
  
_See how they abandoned you?  
  
    I told you.  
  
    They'll take everything away again.   
  
    You'll never see Tom again.   
  
    Never feel love again.   
_  
    He could hear it in Calavicci's voice like he was there with him, his words snaking into his ear. But he wasn't there. He'd abandoned him too. Like _he'd_ been abandoned by him. God, he was such a fuck up. He destroyed everything he touched. Perhaps he was more like the good doctor than he thought.   
  
    Maybe he could still salvage this mission. Lessen his punishment if he completed the task. He had nothing here now, not after that. Yes, that's what he'd do. Beg for mercy. Complete the mission.   
  
    Now he needed to find a weakness in their system, his opportunity.   
  
    The door opened. "Hello, Sam."  
  
    Yes. Beckett had his opportunity right there, and her name was Verbena Beeks.   
  
\-------  
  
    "No. I refuse to believe it." Donna was firm in her stance, shaking her head in adamant denial. "That's Sam. I know it's him."   
  
    Al leaned against his chair. "I know it looks like our Sam, Donna, but it isn't. Trust me. Only one person still calls me Captain, and that's...that's the other one."   
  
    "But that's impossible!" Donna burst out, "The last time you saw him, Ziggy said he was trapped in the time stream! Why would he be here?"  
  
    "I dunno," Al replied, lost, "I dunno. But evidently he got out, and he's looking to sabotage the Project. Jeez, how could we not notice it was him?" He sighed and put his hands on his knees. "That's why he shut down Ziggy; he knew she'd figure it out!"   
  
    "No! It's not him! Something happened to Sam, and he--someone's making him do this! Don't you see, Al? He needs our help!" Donna was hysterical now, her eyes brimming with tears, searching desperately for something to back up her claims. Al grabbed her by the arms, and she frantically tried to pull away.   
  
    "Donna!" Al yelled firmly. She calmed down, and her lip trembled. He lowered his voice. "Would our Sam do any of this?"   
  
    Donna opened her mouth to respond, but the conversation was cut short by the sound of an alarm. Their eyes went wide. "That's a security breach," she said with panic.   
  
    "Damn it!"   
  
    It was obvious what this meant. The two of them raced out of the office.  
  
\-------  
  
    This had been insultingly easy. The scanner was simple to crack; it was like breaking into Calavicci's cell. And now that he had a hostage, getting past the guards at the door was no problem.   
  
    And look at that, she even made a handy guide. They found their way back to the Control Room, where he began to copy the files onto a disk.   
  
    "You smell nice, Beeks," Beckett said as he held her close, "Tell me, did we ever role play together?"  
  
    "It's not too late to make things right, Sam," Verbena told him calmly, but he could feel her mutinous heart racing under his arm, "We're your friends."   
  
    "Ooh, I've got it. We'll role play now. I'll be the escaped prisoner, and you be the helpless victim." He put on a gruff, affected voice, "I'm not goin' back to prison! Only way I'm leavin' this place is in a pine box!"   
  
    Ignoring his jokes, Verbena kept on her poker face. "All you have to do is let me go, and we'll walk calmly back and sort this out. No one's going to hurt you."   
  
    Beckett stopped and grinned, pulling her close and leaning in. "If I were you, I'd start worrying about my own health."   
  
    Her still expression wavered.   
  
    "Stop right there!" Beckett jumped in surprise. It was coming from behind. "Let her go or I'll shoot, sir."   
  
    Damn. Did he have time to get out of the way before he fired? Maybe he could turn quickly and use the doctor as a shield. If he was sedated again, they'd put him in a straitjacket and he'd be screwed.   
  
_BANG!  
  
_     The two of them jumped and Verbena screamed. _That was a real gun_. Whirling around to face them and making sure to keep the woman between himself and danger, Beckett saw a dead guard on the ground and another with the smoking gun in his hand.  
  
    The guard gave a crooked grin and lowered the gun. "Heya, kid. Thought you could use a hand."   
  
    Beckett's gaping mouth turned into a smile. "Al.”

    “In the flesh.”

    “They sent you in for me."   
  
    "Uh, heh, no," Calavicci nervously scratched his temple with his gun, "This isn't exactly a sanctioned leap, if you know what I mean."   
  
    "Sam--" Verbena was suddenly silenced when she was slammed into the wall, and she fell to the floor in an unconscious heap. They didn’t need the distraction.  
  
    Beckett approached Calavicci softly, disbelievingly. "You came back for me. Why?"  
  
    "I..." Calavicci looked like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. He shrugged, looked at the ground. "I couldn't let you die in here, kid."   
  
    For a moment, silence. Beckett was at a loss for words.   
  
    "So!" Calavicci said enthusiastically, back to his lighthearted attitude. He leaned his head in with a mischievous expression. "What do you wanna do?"   
  
    Beckett grinned wickedly. "Burn it to the ground."  
  
    Starting with that damn piano.  
  
\-------  
  
    Al and Donna were met with the discouraging sight of two unconscious guards in the hallway. Al hoped Donna didn’t still think it was their Sam, because if it was…they were in big trouble. They bent down to check on the fallen people.  
  
    "I don't think they're injured," said Donna. She rubbed the back of her neck. "Where would he go now?"   
  
    "Al! Donna!" _Clack clack clack clack_. Tina's light-up heels signaled her arrival as she rushed toward them. She fell into Al's arms. "We've gotta, like, evacuate the building!"   
  
    "Why? What's going on?"   
  
    "Don't you smell the smoke?"   
  
    " _Smoke?!_ " Al repeated with alarm.   
  
    "Yeah! There's a huge fire in Section C!" Tina shouted in a panic, "They tried to put it out, but it's already too big! The speakers are down, so we've been tryin' to, like, warn people!"   
  
    "Oh my god..." Donna's fingers flew to her mouth. Her eyes widened as something dawned on her. "The sprinklers won't work with Ziggy down!"  
  
    "Have someone come down here and help get these guards out," Al commanded, taking control. Tina nodded and clacked away. "We need to find Sam before people start dyin'."   
  
    A shaky voice argued from the corner. ”I'm afraid it's too late for that..."   
  
    Verbena was sloped against the wall, holding onto a welt on her head. A shocked Al and Donna rushed over, and Donna grabbed her for support.   
  
    "What're you talkin' about?" Al asked urgently.   
  
    "Officer Davis...” she mumbled groggily, “Another leaper shot him...They were stealing some files..."   
  
    "Oh god..." Donna whispered in horror. People were dying. Things had gone from bad to worse. Then, "Another leaper?"   
  
    Al's jaw went slack. "Son of a bitch..."   
  
    "Al?"   
  
    Al had grabbed his head. This was too much to handle right now. "Both of them! Damn it, we don't have time for this!" He spun in a circle and tried to think. He jerked to a stop. "Wait a minute, did she say Section C?"   
  
    The implication hit Donna too and she gasped. "The Control Room!"   
  
    "Look, we'll deal with them later," Al said as he began to jog down the hall, "Right now just get everybody out!"   
  
    "Wait! Where are you going?!"  
  
    "I have to try and stop the fire! If the Control Room is destroyed, we lose contact with Sam forever!"   
  
    Before Donna could protest, Al was gone. She didn't have time to argue. Tina had returned with backup, and they began to lift the fallen guards.   
  
    Donna handed off Verbena to one of them. There was something more important she had to do.   
  
\-------  
  
    Now she could smell smoke. Could _see_ smoke. Could see _fire_. The longer she went, the more she was buried. But she had to find him. There was no other option.   
  
    It _was_ her Sam. She knew it was. Felt it within him when they... She knew. This other leaper was the paradox Sam, and he was holding her Sam hostage. He'd put him up to it. And she'd be damned if she lost her husband again.   
  
    She coughed. The smoke was really building up. "Sam! SAM!" she called desperately.  
  
    "Donna..." She gasped. She couldn't see him. It was a…playful voice. Sam's voice, but completely dissonant to their surroundings. "Donna, Donna, Donna... I missed you, babe."   
  
    "Sam?" She coughed again and squinted to try and find him.  
  
    There were two figures, silhouetted in the smoke. The second figure spoke. "She came back for you. Isn't that sweet, Sammy?"   
  
    "The sweetest." He stepped out of the shadows. There was a madness in Sam's eyes she'd never seen before. "So sweet, you'd never guess she was the same bitch who left me locked up in the Waiting Room." 

    That didn’t sound like Sam. Didn’t look like Sam.  
  
    "Sam..." Donna said nervously. The second figure, one of their security, loomed ominously nearby. That had to be the leaper. "I didn't want to do that. I just want you safe with me. Please...let's go."   
  
    "Aw, Donna...I can't stay mad at you." Sam smirked. "You're just too pathetic to be angry with. It's like kicking a puppy. I mean..." He laughed, picking up a piece of broken chair and brandishing it lovingly. "What do I gotta do to make you hate me, Donna? Leave another six years? Fuck a few more women? Oh yeah, he did plenty of that while he was gone... He said he didn't remember you, but..." He tapped his temple. "We both know he did. The only person he loved lying to more than you guys was himself."   
  
    For the first time, Donna was frightened of him. She stumbled back.   
  
    As if the world weren’t on fire and they were simply having a nice chat, he hopped down the steps. She jumped.   
  
    "Tell me, Donna. Was I better than your husband? Did it feel different fucking me?"   
  
    Donna shook her head. She sobbed. "No...you can't be..."   
  
    Sam nodded yes. "'Til death do us part, honey."   
  
    He swung toward her with the chair, and she screamed and fell backwards. Both men found it endlessly amusing as she frantically crawled away. Her husband--or who she thought was her husband--crept closer, illuminated orange by the flames that licked the walls and ceiling. He looked like a demon. She knew now that there was no possibility this could ever be her Sam. But this revelation was much too late.   
  
    Beckett lifted the chair. Donna cradled her head.  
  
    And, as if by miracle, the ceiling cracked. Debris fell between her and her would-be attacker, and the other man pulled her assailant out of the way.   
  
    She had but moments. Scrambling to her feet, she ran as far and as fast as her legs would take her. That was not her Sam. That was a twisted, black soul waiting to consume her. If the flames didn’t first.  
  
\-------  
  
    "We gotta get outta here, Sam! Never mind about everyone else!"   
  
    The fire had spread more quickly than they'd thought. As much as Beckett would like to stay behind and teach a lesson to the person he'd _really_ like to break the neck of, they had to get out before they were trapped. That didn't dampen the immense joy in his chest at seeing the good doctor's work burn though. That was enough for now.   
  
    They skidded to a halt. Their exit was blocked by a wall of flames.   
  
    "Fuck!"   
  
    "You can say that again."   
  
    "Where do we go now?" Beckett asked hopelessly, searching the area for the next best thing.   
  
    "We're gonna have to jump it."   
  
    "What?!"  
  
    "It's still small enough, Sam," Calavicci said, urging him forward, "We can make it if we go now!"   
  
    Beckett stared at the flames. He swallowed.   
  
    "Hey." He looked at Calavicci, who was staring at him intensely. "Do you trust me?"   
  
\-------  
  
    "Holy moly! Fuck me sideways!" Al dropped face-first onto the Control Panel after once again being denied access. He was no Gooshie when it came to computers, but he knew enough to see when he was royally screwed.   
  
    The damn imposter programmed it so they'd require his palm scan. So it didn't matter if he had a master hacker at his side; without Sam's handprint, they were boned.   
  
    "What am I gonna do now?" Al sighed dejectedly. Smoke was starting to seep into the room. Time was running short. He slammed his hands down on the console. "Damn it all! You bastard!"   
  
    "Out of my way!" He was pushed aside by Donna, who began to mess with the controls. He noted the soot on her clothes.   
  
    "Donna, what're you doing back here? What happened?"   
  
    "Never mind." She whacked the console and it made a distressing noise. "C'mon, Ziggy! C,mon, girl, you can do it!"   
  
    "We need his palm, Donna. He changed it on us."   
  
    "We just have to keep trying!"   
  
    "And I'm telling you, it's not gonna work!"   
  
    "Al!" Donna slammed her hands down and looked at him furiously. She was in no mood to mess around or be told no. "Are you gonna give up or are you gonna help me?"   
  
    No. He'd never give up on Sam. With that kick in the butt, he began to desperately press buttons again.   
  
    "Admiral Calavicci! Dr. Eleese! We need to go!" A guard had rushed inside, urging them forward. By now the flames were starting to enter the room, which only made the two at the console more frantic.  
  
    Al coughed and shook his head, waving toward Donna. "You go with them! I'll stay!"  
  
    "No way! _You_ stay, and _I_ stay!" Another rejection screen. Donna yelled and tried again. "Shit!"   
  
    This wasn't working, and the flames were dangerously close to the equipment. Damn it! This couldn't be the end! They'd worked so hard! After all of this time, everything they’d been through, the blood, sweat, and tears, they were gonna lose Sam because of a fire? It just wasn’t fair!

    God. Al looked tearfully toward the Accelerator Chamber. "Sam...I really wish you were here right now, buddy."  
  
    "Maybe I can help."   
  
    The guard was a woman. This voice was a man's. Al's head jerked up with astonished recognition.    
  
    It was Sam. Their Sam. He placed his palm on the screen, and it lit up green.   
  
    Al and Donna gaped.   
  
    The blue orb above them lit up. "Welcome back, Dr. Beckett."  
  
    He grinned proudly. It was as if he’d always been there. "Hello, Ziggy."   
  
_Drip. Drip. Drip. Fsshhhhhhhhh!_    
  
    The sprinklers turned on and rained mercifully down. As the flames were doused and they became soaked, Al and Donna exchanged a look of shocked wonderment. With a victorious laugh, they pulled Sam into a joyous hug.   
  
    "Oh, Sam!" Al exclaimed, "Sam, you did it!" He couldn’t believe it! He could kiss him!

    When he pulled back, however, he found a soggy, confused guard in his place.   
  
    "What happened, admiral?"   
  
    Donna exhaustedly collapsed into her hands on the console. Of course. Al hung his head, placing his hand on the woman's shoulder. "I'll explain it to you later."   
  
    "I too would like an explanation," came Ziggy from above. She hated being out of the loop.  
  
    Al grinned. "You got it, Zig."   
  
    _Thanks, Sam. Thanks for pulling us out of the fire again. Literally._  
  
\-------  
  
    Beckett and Calavicci stood a long distance away from the mountain housing Project Quantum Leap, taking in the sight of the billowing smoke with satisfaction.   
  
    Beckett just wanted to watch it burn. Savor the moment for forever.  
  
    "They'll be retrieving me soon," Calavicci said, "They had to've figured out what I did by now."   
  
    Beckett remained silent. The sky was turning black.   
  
    Calavicci sucked on his lip. Nodded. Uncertainly, he asked, "Are you coming back?"   
  
    This got Beckett's attention. He furrowed his brows. “What do you mean, am I coming back? I've got nothing here." He threw his hand toward the smoky mountain. The bridges were well past burnt.  
  
    "You could just...keep running," Calavicci pointed out softly. He surveyed the desert, bouncing on his heels. "Could probably make it. If you're clever enough." His eyes returned to him. "And you are." His words were an accepted rejection. A masked goodbye, because he knew how easy it would be.  
  
    Beckett considered this for a long time. The desert heat washed over him as he took in the orange and purple of the lowering sun. He sucked in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “No... I think I'll see how this pans out." He held up the disk. "This might be interesting. I want to see how badly this hurts them.”  
  
    Calavicci laughed and lowered his head, shoving his hands into his pockets. He didn’t want to admit how much he’d wanted that answer.  
  
    "Besides. I think we should stick together."   
  
    Calavicci's eyes flew up with surprise. He knew Beckett meant it. His face was filled with earnest resolve, and more behind his words than he could express.  
  
    "I'm sorry for leaving you behind," he said sincerely, "It won't happen again."   
  
    And he held out his hand.   
  
    Calavicci stared at the invitation apprehensively. Slowly, slid his hand out of his pocket.   
  
    Their fingers entwined.   
  
\-------  
  
    By the light of the new day and the disappearance of the flames, the Project was a surreal sight. Charcoaled and damp, interspersed with blinking lights and weary clean-up crew. Some of what was destroyed included Sam's office. They'd managed to retrieve some sentimental items, some blackened trophies...but a lot of it was missing now. It had been preserved since he'd first leaped. Now it was gone. It was a bit like losing more of him.

     It would take a lot to rebuild, but Al was just grateful none of the important equipment had been irreversibly damaged. And, thankfully, it had been contained to a single floor. They still had some smoke damage to deal with, and Ziggy was giving them a hard time, but it was all fixable. The people left behind, however, were a longer project. 

    Noticing Donna standing by the window, he took a break from cleaning and joined her. She had been quiet since last night.  
  
    "Anything goin' on out there?" Al peered outside.   
  
    Donna took in a deep breath. "Nothing at all. Seems strange that the world kept turning." She stared pensively at the desert, clutching her mug of coffee close. Her eyes followed a bird as it flew by.  
  
    After the happiness of victory had worn off, then came the blow of realizing that Sam had not really returned to them. Al was feeling it too. There was something missing with him gone, even if it hadn’t been the real deal.

    He squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. "We all thought it was him, Donna. He had us all fooled."   
  
    Donna gave a wistful grin.   
  
    They went quiet again. Al coughed and wiped his nose. “So what did we find out about what they stole?"   
  
    "Everything. Leap data, blueprints, personnel files..." She shrugged despondently. "Everything."   
  
    "Oh." Al put his hands into his pockets and ran his tongue over his teeth. He nodded. "Boy, are they gonna be sorry they can't read any of that."  
  
    Donna raised her eyebrows with surprise. "What?"   
  
    "The contingency plan. Remember?" Donna's face was blank. Al waved it off. "Eh, that's okay, we never had to use it before now. It's encrypted. They can't look at any of it without a code from both me and Sam. And they might have Sam's codes for whatever reason, but..." He jabbed his thumb toward his chest. "They don't have mine."  
  
    Donna was deadpan. “So they actually have nothing."  
  
    "Nada. Zip. Zero. Zilch." He waved his hands no.  
  
    Donna burst into laughter, and had to react quickly when she almost dropped her mug. When she calmed down, she hummed. "Oh…I wish I could say they hadn't done any damage."  
  
    Al rubbed her back sympathetically. "I know. Me too."   
  
    "They're still out there somewhere."   
  
    "Yeah." Al made sure their eyes met. He grinned warmly. "So's Sam." So he was. His brief visit had meant the world to them, as painful as it was to see him go. Because that strengthened their resolve to retrieve him, and reminded them that despite the tabloids, he was alive.  
  
    They looked out on the desert, and the world kept turning.

 


End file.
